B00CGOH3US EBOK (15 page)

Blistering heat passed by his head and he smelled his burning hair as it crackled at the side of his face. He watched as a fireball shot by him like a flaming stone from the catapult and sailed through the sky.

Osmund!

The burst of fire blinded him, the heat of the explosion scorching his face. When his vision cleared, Osmund was nowhere to be seen. In his place stood a burning pillar, the dark outline of a figure barely visible within the center of the flames.

Then the figure turned. What had once been a face peered through the flames, the eyes dark, sightless holes and the skin blackened leather. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, drifting to him, the smoke enveloping him in a ghostly embrace. Through the roar of the fire and the screams on the battlefield, he heard Osmund's voice.

"Help me."

Baelin jerked awake, roused by the sound of his own rapid breathing, expecting to see the fallen bodies of his fellow knights frozen in charred agony on the scorched moor. But all that surrounded him were the tall trees standing silent while they slept. He looked at the girl across the dwindling fire, relieved to see her sleeping face instead of the blackened ones that haunted his dreams.

He rubbed his temples, trying to drive the images from his mind. It was futile. The dreams still tormented him, even after all these years. But this time, it was more vivid than ever before. Why? Was it because Lady Jill had made him remember? Or because he'd been forced to kill a man using the dragon's weapon?

He struggled to calm the rapid beating of the beast's heart as it sent its heated blood racing through his human body. If he did not gain control, the creature's rage might rise and turn on Lady Jill. He had to get away from her before that happened.

He rose and walked into the forest. Not far. Just enough to give him space to tame the beast raging within.

Coming upon a tall beech tree, he drew his sword. He hacked and chopped and sliced at the trunk, bits of bark and chunks of pulp flying in all directions. He attacked the tree viciously, all the while seeing the bandits' dirty faces, their filthy hands grabbing at Lady Jill. Threatening her. Frightening her. Touching her.

Bile rose in his throat. He'd felt so helpless, just as he had the day Osmund died.

When the man had raised his blade at Lady Jill, rage like none he'd ever known had gripped him. He couldn't risk losing her. Not if she was
the one
. Too far away to stop the man, Baelin had saved her the only way he could.

Dear God, the horror on her face. He couldn't blame her. He repulsed himself. He hadn't wanted to kill the man the way Osmund had been slain. No one should have to die that way. But he'd had no choice. In that one terrifying moment, desperation had melded with instinct.

The dragon's instinct. When the knight could not save the maiden, the dragon had.

Baelin ceased his attack on the helpless tree and leaned his forehead against the trunk. He cursed himself. All those years living in that damn cave, his skills had gone beyond useless.

Sparring with trees and imaginary foes was a poor substitute for real combat and because of that, he'd been ill-prepared for the attack. He looked down at the sword in his grip, all but snarling at it. Shame threatened to choke him. He was no longer the skilled knight he'd once been, but a man dressed in mail pretending to be one. Worse yet, forced to use his dragon's powers to save Lady Jill, now he couldn't even claim to be a man.

Shoving away from the tree, he resumed his practice, not wishing to be caught off guard ever again. Over and over, he swung his sword, until he and the blade became one. When exhaustion threatened to overtake him, he stopped, panting as sweat trickled down his neck into his
aketon
. His tension easing, he welcomed the calm and breathed deep of the moist forest air.

Examining his blade, Baelin checked for nicks and chinks in the metal. The tree had not been forgiving. He would have to sharpen it at first chance. He sheathed his sword, feeling once again in control.

The feeling didn't last long. Unease whispered on the air before he came in sight of the camp. In their brief time together, he'd become accustomed to Lady Jill's scent, aware of her every movement. At this moment, he was intensely aware of none of them.

She was gone.

Panic placed its icy grip on him as he started running. Had he been unwise to leave her alone, even for such a brief time? Had the remaining bandits returned and taken her?

Reaching the camp, he observed no signs of a struggle, no indication she had been taken against her will. Then he noticed her blanket and satchel were missing, and he knew the ugly truth.

She'd left on her own.

Baelin stared at the empty spot by the dying fire, the remaining embers little more than smoking ash. His dragon heart constricted painfully within his human chest. How could she run away from him? How could she break her word?

For a brief moment by the fire the other night, he thought she might be near to, if not liking him, at least understanding him. But he knew now any hope of that had vanished with the attack. The terror and revulsion in her eyes had been evident. Now, she no doubt saw him as all the others did—as a monster, something to be feared and despised. He should be accustomed to it by now, but somehow knowing she felt that way about him cut deeper than the rejection of all the other maids who had come before her.

As the reality settled in, he glanced around the campsite. Only one of the supply satchels was missing. Either she had a care and left him with something, or she'd taken only what she could carry.

Then a horrifying thought gripped him. He dropped to his knees and rummaged in the remaining satchel.

Gone. The tapestry was gone.

The edges of his vision darkened, tunneling to where his hands gripped the opening of the leather satchel. How could she take the tapestry? His only hope of returning to the man he once was, gone. The calm he'd tried so hard to regain in the forest vanished in an instant, replaced by the dragon's possessive rage.

Damn the wench. She had no idea what misfortune could befall her, traveling alone. She likely thought to sell the tapestry in the first village or township she came upon. She had no idea of its true worth.

Anger at her betrayal consumed the shock of her leaving. He would find her. In the short time they'd been together, he'd learned her scent. He knew her. There was no place she could run, no place she could hide, that he would not find her.

And woe beware the maid when he did.

Jill kept up a brisk pace along a rutted path cutting a jagged brown scar across the green grass of the rolling hillside, the tapestry tucked securely in her satchel. She refused to feel guilty about taking it. She'd only done what she had to. After all, it was her only way home.

She didn't want to think about the fact that the tapestry was also Baelin's only hope of breaking the curse. He'd had it for over two hundred years. He'd had his chance with it. Now it was her turn. She wasn't going to be stuck in this godforsaken place one more minute than she had to be, especially not with a half-crazed dragon-man.

But with each step she took, her conscience proved to be an irritating companion, whispering in her ear that what she was doing was wrong. That she should turn around and go back to Baelin.

No. She was not about to be swayed by her go-ahead-and-walk-all-over-me heart or his I'm-too-good-looking-to-be-a-bad-person face. She'd met her share of handsome guys, and more often than not, the gorgeous face concealed a snake beneath.

Or in Baelin's case, a dragon.

But she wasn't going to argue semantics. A reptile was a reptile. And although his sob story had sucked her in at first, he obviously had the cold-blooded heart of one.

He'd killed someone by setting them on fire, for Pete's sake!

She stumbled as her body convulsed in a head-to-toe shiver. What if he turned that violence on her? With the way she constantly insulted and irritated him, it was probably only a matter of time. She wasn't about to stick around and be turned into a human candlestick.

Jill straightened her shoulders and concentrated on navigating the winding path ahead of her. She had to stop worrying about Baelin's feelings. He wasn't her problem. Not anymore.

She needed to focus on getting herself back home and she figured the best way to do that was to find the person who created this jinxed tapestry in the first place. If lizard lips wouldn't confront the Dark Witch, then she would. Men always went about these things the hard way. All she had to do was reason with the sorceress woman to woman…she hoped. And if she could manage to break the curse for Baelin in the process, all the better. But she would do it without him because staying with him was definitely not good for her health.

She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see an enraged dragon hot on her trail. There was no doubt he would be coming after her. Her gaze rose to the clouds where a few hours ago, the sun had chased away a blood-red sunrise. Red skies at morning, sailors take warning.

Would he swoop down from those clouds as he'd done when he was a dragon?

She quickened her pace.

Or would he follow on foot, his long strides eating up the ground, closing in on her step by step? Was he even now almost upon her?

She whipped her head around and scanned the footpath in front of her.

Or would he sneak around and get ahead of her? Was he even now just over that ridge, waiting for her?

Paranoia ate away at Jill. Every step she took had her wondering if she'd made a terrible mistake. Her stomach clenched, imagining how angry he would be. She knew it was not a matter of
if
he found her, but
when
—and what he would do to her when he did.

As she topped a hill, she spied a small village in the valley below, smoke curling from fires and animals dotting the surrounding fields. Thatched huts never looked so good. Surely someone there would know how to find this Dark Witch. Tucking the tapestry into her satchel along with any remnants of guilt, Jill set off to make her own destiny.

But as she neared the village, that destiny took on an ugly face. Gone was the quaint hamlet she'd viewed from a distance. A weathered gallows stood by the side of the road, a body swinging back and forth in the breeze like some life-size marionette, the man's skin pecked to the bone by birds. Missing eyes stared at her from hollow sockets, his mouth hanging open in a final scream, voicelessly warning her to leave this horrible place.

She fought back the bile rising in her throat. What kind of people did something like this? They'd hanged this poor man and left his body outside to rot. Maybe seeking help from these people wasn't such a good idea.

Turning to go in search of a friendlier place, Jill froze when she spotted a dark figure standing on the crest of the hill she'd just descended.

Baelin.

From where she stood, his expression was unreadable, but the murderous rage emanating from his body reached across the long distance to wrap its deadly fingers around her throat. If it were possible, his presence terrified her more than the dead body swinging behind her. She had no doubt he would kill her if he got his hands on her.

Daring to take her chances, Jill fled into the town, hoping to lose herself among the thatched huts and wooden sheds. But where could she hide where he wouldn't find her?

She searched desperately, not daring to ask for help. They'd hanged one of their own. They'd have no qualms about throwing a stranger to the dragon lurking outside their gates.

She spied one lone building constructed of stone standing tall among the wattle and daub huts, a simple cross etched over the doorway. Would a church offer her a safe haven? Would a priest help her? Could a creature such as Baelin even enter holy ground? Wait, maybe that only applied to vampires and not dragons. Regardless, it was her best option.

Jill dashed up the cobbled steps and shoved one of the massive wooden doors open with her shoulder. Slipping inside, she eased it shut as the sound of her rapid breathing echoed throughout the vaulted stone interior. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering in through glassless windows, she discovered the single, cavernous room was empty. Nobody home.

It was also completely devoid of furniture. There wasn't a pew, bench or chair to be found. What did the people do, stand through the entire service? Unfortunately, the lack of furniture didn't bode well for her finding a good hiding place should Baelin look for her in here.