Amazon Queen (3 page)

I could see now the tip glistened. She picked up the bowl and held it out. An inch of oil covered its bottom.

So, I
had
interrupted something. Still, she shouldn’t have wandered off with the baby we had just gone through so much effort to reclaim, not without telling me where she was going and why.

“Are you done?” I asked.

She tapped one finger against the rim of the bowl. “For now. The magic is gone; I’ll have to recall it another day.”

A prick to make me feel guilty, but it didn’t draw blood. “Or perhaps after she is returned to her mother, she can be ‘accepted’ then,” I parried back, but I wasn’t done. I had another question for our new priestess. “What did you use on the son—the dart? It wasn’t part of our plan.”

Thea’s jaw tightened. “Do you have a problem with the outcome? We did get the child.” With her thumb she twirled a ring around her finger. It was gold with a black enamel spider clinging to its band.

Despite myself I shuddered. Last fall the Amazons had been attacked by a son. I’d been staked out in a yard, a spider’s web of magic stretched over me, keeping my warriors from me, holding me down
helpless
. I had never feared anything, still didn’t, but spiders . . . I couldn’t help but associate them with that nightmare, lying there vulnerable and exposed . . . I pulled my gaze from the ring as I realized Thea was watching me.

“Perhaps,” she replied. “Here.” She held out the knife. “You’re a queen. Someone should have shared this part of our history with you before.”

I glanced at the weapon, reluctant to take it but still eager to pass off the child. Finally I slipped the baby into Thea’s arms and took hold of the knife.

The handle was smooth and warm and seemed to pulse with life inside my grip.

“Do you feel it?” she whispered.

Running my thumb down the blade, I nodded. She was right; it was dull. I felt nothing . . .

A shriek, loud and harsh, startled me from my thoughts. I stepped back, my attention dashing around the clearing. Another shriek, this one closer and overhead.

A bird, bigger than any I’d ever seen or dreamed existed, soared toward us. Its wings, probably eleven feet tip to tip, blocked the sun. Its head was featherless and red, its beak hooked.

I froze, my brain not moving fast enough to process what was happening, to form a defense or an attack.

Thea cursed and my instincts snapped into place. I threw the knife, but the blade wasn’t crafted for tossing. It fell with a thud to the ground.

I bent to pick up my staff and swung it overhead, like a child batting at a piñata.

The circling bird barely seemed to notice. His focus wasn’t on me; it was on Thea and the child she held.

The child . . .

“A son,” I yelled. The bird was a shape-shifted son, probably one of the two whom we’d tricked in Beloit. How they had found us this quickly I didn’t know, but I had no doubt the monstrous bird wasn’t natural . . . at least not for northern Illinois.

Something blasted from the dirt beside me. My staff, caught in the explosions, flew from my hand.

I coughed and rubbed dirt from my suddenly streaming eyes. Rocks flew from the ground and shot into the air like missiles. Thea stood in the center of the minefield, her arms held out and her lips moving. She was trying to down the bird with rocks previously buried beneath the soil.

But she had set down the child.

“Thea!” I yelled, trying to warn her to get to the baby, to take her and run. I could fight the son, but if we lost the child . . .

The priestess didn’t hear me. She seemed lost in her fight. Her hands formed claws and dug down in the air, like she was digging in the dirt; then with a quick twist she flung her hands back up overhead and a new batch of rocks flew into the sky.

Realizing it was up to me to grab the child, I fell forward into a somersault and rolled, landing in a crouch next to the infant. Relief washed over me. I reached for her, ready to grab her and run, but she had been moved, bumped aside by a growling, snarling animal.

The thing stood next to the now screaming child, almost over her. Its body was stocky like a bear but smaller, maybe forty pounds. His teeth, attached to snapping jaws, were sharp and jagged, obviously built to tear flesh from bone. A wolverine.

I knew he was the shorter son as soon as I saw him, but his expression left no doubt. He stared me down with a hatred so intense, it felt personal. Animals don’t emit emotions like that, but humans do . . . and sons do.

I’d wronged him, and he meant to make me pay.

A mix of a growl and snort escaped his jaws.

The knife was close, had fallen less than a foot from where I kneeled. I leaned out, willing my hand to close over the bone handle.

It pulsed against my skin. I loosened my grip, then, remembering why I needed it, tightened my hold again. The internal reminder took only a second, but when I looked up, ready to pounce, the animal was gone.

A man stood in his place. Naked, he looked more muscular than he had clothed.

A tattoo of a wolverine covered the top half of his shoulder, but I didn’t spend long studying his art. My focus latched onto his hands instead, on the squirming, screeching child he held over his head.

The knife in my
hand, I leapt and landed on the son’s back. He smelled of male and woods, musk and humus. Earthy and enticing. Except I wasn’t enticed; I was enraged.

He didn’t bend or move to protect himself. He stood straight and tall. I thought I had him, thought I’d won. Then the bird, whatever it was, swooped low, grabbed the bundled baby in its talons, and soared away.

Thea cursed again, louder and rougher than before. I felt her scrutiny, hard and accusing, but I didn’t glance at her.

One elbow locked around the son’s neck, I pulled back my free hand, the one holding the knife, and thrust down toward his chest.

I landed without warning on the rock-strewn ground. The impact surprised and jarred me. My jaws snapped together and my fingers flew open. The knife fell to the ground and I tumbled onto my back. Unarmed, I didn’t pause; I shoved myself up and, seeing it now only inches away, grabbed my staff.

I pivoted slowly, looking for the son. He was close and back in his animal form. We were alone now; Thea had left, in pursuit of the bird, I assumed. I had no idea how she meant to catch it, or if she could, but here and now I had my own battle to fight. I focused on the son.

I moved forward, my staff low and positioned to strike against his now smaller body. The snorting growl I’d heard earlier grew louder, and his eyes glittered with dark emotion.

I swung. With a sickening thud, the end of my staff collided with his head. He slid backward, his claws scrambling at the ground and his growl growing so loud it was almost a roar.

In seconds he was back on his feet. He circled to my left, his teeth snapping. He was watching me, calculating my next move.

He bared his teeth, declaring a challenge.

Deep in the battle, I released a yell, sidestepped, and jabbed at his head—this time with enough force to kill.

My staff collided with dirt and rock. The impact reverberated up my arms and into my body. I jumped back as if electrocuted and surveyed the ground, searching, wondering what the hell had happened, how I’d missed.

A hand shot forward and grabbed my staff, or tried to. I sidestepped, twisting the staff up and over my head, then lashed sideways, aiming for where a lifetime of practice told me a throat would be located.

The son, a man now, again completely naked, dropped to a crouch. My staff flew harmlessly over his head.

I recovered again, pulling the staff back and bracing my legs for my next thrust.

“Give it up. We won’t let you have the baby.” He stood slowly, his eyes telling me not to swing, that despite his calm words he was ready for my next move.

“Won’t let us have what is already ours? Perhaps you’d like to think again.”

His eyes glittered, not the same eyes I’d seen staring at me from the animal’s face, but the expression . . . the hate . . . it was a perfect match.

“Yours?” he asked and snorted. “You can’t own a child, can’t do with it as you please, Zery. Not as long as the sons are here to stop you.”

Despite my best intentions, I jerked. He knew my name.

I tightened my jaw, then pulled my lips into a smile. “I don’t remember being introduced.”

“Don’t you? Zery Kostovska.” He tilted his head and studied my face. I kept it void of all emotion. “I feel like we’ve met. I know so much about you . . . how even in a house full of Amazons, you keep yourself apart. How you come here to the woods when no one else does. How you pride yourself on being the perfect Amazon queen.” He laughed at the last.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Me?” He grinned. His teeth were even and white. “I’m your fairy godfather. The sons assigned me to watch over you and your little camp of Amazons. Do you feel special?” He shook his head, a mocking imitation of motherly letdown. “I was so disappointed when I saw you in Beloit, realized you were part of their plan.” He looked at me again, his scrutiny intense. “You really should try not to disappoint me.”

He moved then.

I swung my staff.

And the son did the impossible. He caught it with his bare hand.

I’d had my blows parried before, but not by many and not easily. But the man staring at me had caught my staff without moving more than his arm. Even the cocky slant of his brow hadn’t altered.

Then he did something no one had dared to do before. He jerked my staff toward his body, jerking me there too. His arm slipped behind my waist and he held me tight against his naked form. My breasts already compressed by my workout bra were crushed more. The only things separating us were my thin tee and shorts and the staff we both still held.

I didn’t struggle; my eyes met his. The weak struggled; the strong simply escaped . . . when they were ready.

“One question. Why? Why are you doing this? Oh, I forgot . . . that’s how the Amazons stay strong, isn’t it? Preying on the most defenseless?”

Anger flooded my body, but I forced calm into my voice. “The Amazons stay strong because we are strong.”

He laughed. “Of course. And only the strong deserve to survive.”

“Basic law of nature—the strong survive. You have issues with that?” I asked.

“Yes.” He jerked me closer. “If it’s at the cost of someone else’s survival.”

He was talking nonsense. “You threaten me, I’ll fight back. You steal from me, I’ll steal back. If you expected something else, you don’t know the Amazons.”

His lips quirked, but without humor. “Oh, I know the Amazons. Way better than I’d like. Take my mother, for example . . . I know her, know she cast me aside, not because she couldn’t raise me, but because she thought I was beneath her. At least that was all she did. She didn’t kill me or maim me. I suppose I should be grateful for that. Other sons weren’t so lucky. Some of us curse our mothers, but me?” He shrugged a shoulder. “You can’t hate a rattler for being a snake, can you? Just like you can’t hate an Amazon for being a bitch.”

The venom in his voice was harsh, but our reality was harsh. An example of why the sons didn’t belong with us. My mother didn’t raise me, but while I couldn’t claim to love her, or miss her now that we made no pretense of familial care, I didn’t bemoan my fate. Being raised by surrogates, one after the other, had made me strong, taught me early on what emotional commitments did to you, how they weakened you.

But I had no interest in explaining any of this to this son and, based on the rage simmering behind his dark eyes, he had no interest in hearing anything I had to say.

He leaned closer; his breath—it smelled of spearmint—stirred my hair. “What about you, Zery? You ever curse your mother?”

Then he pulled back and his hand moved, from my waist to the back of my neck . . . to one of my tattoos . . . if he touched the others I’d desert my submissive act.

“You wear Artemis’s crescent, but do you follow her, Zery? Really?” His fingers brushed over my skin.

The tattoo was a gift, one I’d received when I’d accepted my role as queen. It tied me to Artemis, awakened some of her strengths inside me. All queens had them, high priestesses too, although theirs was on the inside of one wrist.

His fingers touched both the ink and the magic buried there; a tingle swept through my body.

Another surprise.

I hid my reaction.

His fingers moved again. Somehow, without being able to see the tattoo, he was tracing its border.

A shiver erupted from my core. I gritted my teeth.

He cocked his head. “You really don’t let people get close, do you? Have you ever? Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the Amazons . . . what they need to change.” He leaned in. This time his lips brushed my ear. I stood still. I could take him down at any moment. Knowing that was enough, gave me the patience to stand there and listen . . . to learn. I hoped to get him to talk more, to give me a clue how many of the sons watched us and where they lived. And then, after I stole the baby back, I would kill him. He and his fellow son had stolen one of our own—he couldn’t live, not after that.