Knight Avenged (21 page)

The second alternative appealed to him more than the first. No way did he want to place Cosmina back in danger. She’d endured enough. And after hours of discomfort—of shivering against him, twisting in the saddle, and hiding the pain—she was finally asleep, so exhausted no amount of jostling disturbed her. Add that to the fact the forest struck without mercy or looking to see who it hit and—aye, no question. The farther he kept Cosmina from the fray, the better he would feel.

Tareek banked overhead.
“Henri
k . . .
”

“Hold on. I might have a solution.”
Twisting in the saddle, Henrik glanced over his shoulder. “Kazim.”

Serious dark eyes met his. “What?”

“Tareek needs to land. Do you think—”

“I can handle Thea.”

“Are you certain?” Henrik asked, eying his friend. “No room for error.”

“Trust me. I’m not sure what is happening, but I can feel the forest breathe. The vibration is in my veins. I am connected to the earth, Henri
k . . .
able to make things grow and call upon the trees.” Dark gaze narrowed, Kazim searched the vegetation on the north side of the trial. “Even the wolf pack tracking us acknowledges my dominion.”

“Wolves?” Shay asked, looking nervous as he glanced around.

“Don’t worry. The pack is now under my control. And Thea?” Kazim raised his hand. Magic rose, swirling in the center of his palm. Wolves howled somewhere nearby, making Shay twitch in his saddle. Henrik grinned. All right then, point proved and well taken. Kazim knew what he was doing. Was 100 percent in command as he murmured, coaxing Thea out of the shadows. The forest spirit purred, the sound one of bliss as vines stroked over his friend’s hand. “She’s half in love with me already.”

Andrei snorted.

Shay shook his head. “Too confident.”

“Simple fact,” Kazim said, spurring his mount forward. The scent of hollyhocks rolled as Thea followed. At the lip of the path, Kazim met his gaze and tipped his chin. “Tell him to wait for my signal.”

“Already done.”

“Relax, H,” Kazim said, disappearing into the dell.

Relax?
Kazim had clearly lost his mind, ’cause—no chance in hell. Much as he wanted to believe in Kazim’s gift, logic shoved faith out of the way. Thea wasn’t a puppet. She possessed a mind of her own, which meant his guard needed to stay where he always kept it. Up very,
very
high. Tension raised it even higher, making his muscles flicker in protest as he set his heels to his warhorse’s sides. His steed leapt forward, moving from walk to gallop in less than a heartbeat. So did his mind, charging ahead, finding all kinds of flaws in the strategy. Magic never cooperated. Not in his experience anyway, s
o . . .

Little room for doubt. The plan was already doomed. And Tareek was headed for a fall.

Wings spread wide, Tareek banked into a holding pattern. Around and around. Back and forth. Pacing Dragonkind-style, revolving into continuous circles in full flight. Hristos, he seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight—waiting, watching, hoping. At least now, though, the endless source of trouble was in his sights. Five hundred yards below, riding hell-bent into the clearing. His eyes narrowed on Henrik. Huh. Strange, bu
t . . .

His friend looked all right and yet not quite himself either.

Something had shifted. Not by much, but enough to raise some alarm bells.

Tareek growled as unease surfaced. Unleashing his magic, he tapped into Henrik’s bioenergy. Overkill? Probably. Unwelcome? Certainly. His friend wouldn’t appreciate the shakedown. Nor the coddling. The male wasn’t a lad anymore or in need of paternal protection. Tareek huffed. His dragon reacted, spilling magma into his throat as he registered the ridiculousness of the thought.
Paternal protection.
What a farce. Henrik needed a sire like he needed another hole in his head. The warrior was all kinds of vicious. So talented with his blades and bow, most refused to tangle with him.

Too bad the realization didn’t stop instinct.

Old habits died hard. And warranted or nay, so did his desire to shield Henrik.

So instead of reeling it in, he let his magic roll. Henrik’s physical grid went up on his mental screen. Banged up. Some scrapes. A few bruise
s . . .
naught more. Relief banged around inside his chest, making his heart flip-flop. Thank Silfer. His charge was none the worse for wea
r . . .

No thanks to him and his bonehead move in the cemetery.

He’d nearly killed his comrades. Tareek grimaced. Not his finest hour. Nowhere near a well-executed plan either. He’d flown in quick and struck too fast, unleashing the first fireball before assessing the situation—before dipping below the cloud cover to get the lay of the land and all the players in it. He snorted. Lava-infused sparks flew from his nostrils, then blew back, whirling over his horns as he shook his head. A complete understatement. He’d allowed emotion to cloud his judgment and nearly taken Henrik out in the process.

Lucky. He’d gotten so damned lucky.

Not something that would likely happen again, s
o . . .

No question. He needed to pull his head out of his arse and even out. Right now, before he ended up hurting someone he didn’t want to. A distinct possibility, one Garren had warned him about when they’d been freed from prison. Captured and tortured. Twenty years spent locked behind bars—condemned to cramped conditions and little food—did strange things to a male. Some went crazy. Others’ minds stayed strong as their bodies gave out. In his case, the inactivity had mucked up his timing.

Hence his less-than-stellar performance tonight.

Eyes on the ground, Tareek angled his wings, gliding into another turn as Kazim dismounted. The warrior’s feet thumped down. He glanced skyward. Tareek went on high alert. Any moment now, the Persian would give the signal and—

A shiver rippled through him.

His scales clicked together, making the spikes along his spine rattle. The sound wound him a notch tighter. And no wonder. He really didn’t want to go down there. Not while the Limwoods hissed and creepers streamed around the edge of the dell, weaving between large blackwoods and hundred-year-old oaks. Stripped of foliage, the treetops swayed, parting to give him a bird’s-eye view of the ground. Thick vines intertwined with thinner ones, slithering in and around until the mass looked like a writhing nest of vipers. Unforgiving ones with sharp fangs and a venomous strike. Recall slammed through him. He swallowed a growl. Four days.
Four wretched days
spent tangled up in the Limwoods.

Not exactly an experience he wanted to undergo again.

“Tareek.” Eyes on the sky, Kazim leapt onto a rocky outcropping in the middle of the clearing. “Almost ready.”

“You better know what you’re doing,” he said. “I get strangled, I’m coming after you.”

Kazim huffed. “You get strangled, you’ll be dead and no longer my concern.”

Good point. Tareek’s lips twitched. Arrogant little pissant. “I’ll haunt you from the grave.”

“Bring tea when you visit. I prefer chamomile.”

“Pansy.”

“Scaly ingrate.”

“Stow i
t . . .
both of you.” Authority rang inside the growl. Tipping his head back, Henrik glared at him, treating his comrade to a warning look. “Kazim, move your arse. Get him on the ground.”

The Persian nodded, then met each assassin’s gaze in turn. “Weapons stay sheathed. No one draws unless I say so an
d . . .
”

The male trailed off. Tareek banked left, completing another circuit above the clearing.

“Back off,” Kazim said, finishing his thought. “I don’t want to upset her.”

“Good plan.” With a quick tug, Shay walked his warhorse backward.

Gaze riveted to the creepers, Andrei sheathed his boomerang. “Better advice.”

Tareek glanced at Henrik. His mouth curved an
d . . .
surprise, surprise. His friend stayed still, refusing to back his steed away. Typical. The male personified stubborn, bringing the character flaw to life without effort. Tareek shook his head as Henrik shifted in the saddle. The move spoke volumes, and his friend’s body language even more. He was preparing, getting ready to jump into the fray if Kazim failed and violence became necessary.

The realization made his heart beat harder. Hristos help him. Henrik was too loyal for his own good. Not that Tareek minded. He was cut from the same cloth and suffered the same fault: the overwhelming need to protect. Which mean
t . . .

No sense asking Henrik to back away.

Or trying to temper the concern he sensed in the assassin.

Neither approach would work.

’Twas heartwarming in many ways. To be so well loved. To be valued and needed. To have a friend willing to risk everything to keep him safe. A strange thought, one with sharp teeth and a startling bite. And as awareness struck, cutting him to the bone, faith roared into view. ’Twould be all right. All of it. The hard grip of the past would eventually loosen and fade. The present would smooth out and friendship would return. Despite the rocky start, he and Henrik would find a way to make it right.

Drawing a deep breath, Kazim rolled his shoulders and bowed his head. He held the lungful a moment, then let it go. A gentle breeze tousled the treetops as the assassin flexed his hands. Magic rose, streaming off the Persian in cresting waves. The scent of evergreens blew in and the Limwoods murmured. Thick vines changed course, slithering out of the shadows to surround Kazim. His voice dropped an octave and, tone low, the male spoke like a lover, praising, cajoling, caressing the creepers with his fingertips. The forest sighed, the soft sound rising to a steady hum of pleasure.

Tareek blinked. Holy hell. Kazim wa
s . . .
wa
s . . .

Hristos, color him surprised. The Persian was wielding magic with skill and a serious amount of attitude. His brows collided. When in Silfer’s name had that happened? Dumb question. Irrelevant too. The
when
didn’t matter. The
how
, though? Well now, that needed answering. Particularly since, as far as he knew, Henrik was the only gifted one—the sole male out of seven to be afflicted by magic and the discomfort that went along with it.

“I’m ready,” Kazim said, vines writhing around his feet. “Taree
k . . .
land as close to me as you can. I’ll try to keep her from dragging you out of the sky.”

Try.
Not the most inspiring word.

Tareek nodded anyway. Despite past experience and his disquiet, cowardice wasn’t an option. Ever. So instead of banking hard and flying away, he sliced through the thin clouds, descending another hundred feet to set up his approach. The Limwoods hissed in warning. Kazim murmured his reassurance. Tareek held his breath and, painting an invisible target on the rocky ground at the assassin’s feet, tucked his winds in tight. Gravity took hold, yanking him out of the night sky. The ground rose to meet him. Deadly vines snapped skyward, shooting above the treetops. Frigid air burning across his scales, Tareek counted off the seconds. Thre
e . . .
tw
o . . .

One!

Tareek shifted from dragon to human form and tucked into a somersault. Smaller equaled better right now. And creating a diversion? Well now, that equaled an excellent plan. If the Limwoods couldn’t find him in the chilly swirl, the greater his chances of reaching the ground in one piece. Free-falling fast, he conjured clothes and flipped into another revolution. The forest hissed. Vines whiplashed, slicing above and below him. One mind-torqueing turn spun into more and—

Slam-bang. His feet rammed into stone.

The hard landing sent his knees rebounding into the wall of his chest. Bone cracked against bone. Air rushed from his lungs and pain struck, decimating rational thought as he doubled over. As he wheezed, struggling to breathe, the Limwoods rose with predatory intent. Crouched in a ball, Tareek listed to one side, knocking into Kazim’s legs.

Creepers curled around his forearms, Kazim widened his stance, supporting his sideways slide. “Stay still, Tareek.”

Excellent advice. Music to his ears. Especially since he couldn’t catch his breath, never mind move. Which meant Kazim better think fast and work smart. Otherwise the Limwoods would strike and he wouldn’t stand a chance. But as the thought circled and worry expanded, something miraculous happened. The vines withdrew, releasing the assassin one tendril at a time before retreating toward the edge of the dell.

Exhaling long and slow, Kazim raised his head. Eyes as dark as midnight met Tareek’s. A moment later, the Persian’s mouth curved. “One beast tamed. One scaly arse saved.”

Levity lived in the words. The kind of teasing designed to do one thing: lessen the tension and break the stranglehold of unease. Normally, Tareek would’ve appreciated the effort. But not right now. The frivolity didn’t belong. Hristos, that had been close. Far too close. And as the wind picked up and storm clouds rolled in to hide the moon, deepening the night shadow, Tareek fisted his hands to keep them from shaking.