Forsaken Heart Page 13

  Bede narrowed her eyes, fury swarming over the lingering lust. “You dare to challenge Gawain? To challenge me?”

  “Challenge you?” He snorted. “What challenge? You are but a disposable food source. Pity Gawain’s decision to break from feeding on females is with one so weak.”

  Bede shuddered at the banked lust in the man’s gaze, his eyes lingering on her breasts. Stepping back, her eyes darted to the others who stared at her much like a slab of salt pork. Her fangs ached, lengthening with the perceived threat, but fear kept her immobile. She screamed when one threw Ashalia aside, the girl’s body crumpling against the stone of the fireplace. Rushing past the male, she knelt next to the girl, her fingers seeking any sign of injury.

  “Gods above, how could you? She is but a child!” Bede glared at the offending warrior. “You are no better than the Roman dogs who have ravaged my country for so long. Hardly worthy of the title of men. When Gawain hears of this you will suffer.”

  “Silence, woman.” He grabbed her hair, lifting her to her feet. He pulled her flush against his body, and she gagged at the feel of his erection pressing into her back. She snapped at his fingers with her teeth when he groped her breast.

  “Selordan, enough. The king has commanded we return with her. He said nothing about breeding with a mortal.”

  “Pity.” Selordan sniffed at her hair, his erection jumping beneath the leather of his pants. “Still, he will grant us permission after he passes judgment. I relish the idea of sampling the blood flowing through its veins.”

  Striking out, she clawed at his face, his neck, tears forming in her eyes as she struggled against his grasp. Sobbing when the air around them shifted, tightened, she barely registered the long, jagged scratches marring his flesh, or the lengthening, the sharpening of her nails into claws. Her screams and struggles faded from the cabin a moment after she did.

  Hard stone met her knees as her captor dropped her to the floor of the mighty throne room. Scrambling to her feet she glared at the men, fury lashing at her control. Eyeing the nearest man’s waist she smirked when he backed up, his hand falling to his sword.

  “You’re a traitor,” Bede ground out. “Less than—”

  “My king.” Selordan bowed as the air shrank and a moment later Hema sat atop his throne. “As you ordered.”

  “So Gawain thought he could remove you from my—”

  “Save the bluster.” Bede sniffed. “We both know you’ve decided to sentence me for some crime you dreamed up. So kill me. Get it over with, and I can assure you, Gawain will avenge my death.”

  “Be still your tongue, mortal, before I cut it from your pretty face.” Hema leaned forward.

  “Why? Do you think I must make my own death easy upon you? Nay, I’ll not be the willing, whimpering weakling you crave. You’ll get no obedience or submission from me. Leech.” Bede caught the muted gasp of those in the room, but refused to look away from their king.

  Hema’s face was red, blotched with fury as he rose to his feet. His boots thudded against the steps as he paced toward her. She shivered at the malice in his gaze, her fingers tangling within the folds of her gown. If she could get it high enough she could retrieve her weapon. Clawing at his wrist as he grabbed her throat, she narrowed her eyes.

  “Tell me, mortal. Are you like all others? Weak, so frail a slight tightening will suffocate you?”

  “I am not weak,” Bede gasped, her nails scoring his flesh. “Nor do I fear death. But you do.” She dropped her voice. “You hate Gawain so much for failing your queen but where were you? What were you doing when she was killed? Wallowing in the pleasure between another’s thighs, be what you were doing? She was your mate, your other half, and you were off leaving a young warrior to stand guard while your trusted general walked unimpeded through the halls. Gawain carries a burden he should not. If anyone should wear the crown of guilt, it should be you. Kill me, Hema, King of all Vampires—but it will not return what is beyond your reach.”

  “Kill the bitch.” Hema dropped her, searing pain washing over her as her knees came into contact with the stone. “Gawain should know better.”

  “Be still your weapons!” Harsh, the unyielding feminine command shattered the tension.

  Bede turned her head, studying the figure rapidly approaching from the massive doors. Tall, delicate looking, her long dark hair streaked by white, the woman stopped mid-room with her arms crossed beneath her breasts. The woman’s eyes scanned the room, disdain and fury sparking in them. Behind her stood two women dressed in leather, weapons hanging from their hips, braced for battle. Fangs and claws at the ready, their bodies alive with what looked like birds on fire.

  “Bruja, this does not concern—”

  “It concerns us all, Hema. How dare you kill this child, she has not even grown into her instincts. Newly claimed and you seek to kill—”

  “She is mortal! Mortals are no more than food, they serve—”

  “Ashalia, take Bede to my suite. See that she is bathed and dressed accordingly.”

  “My queen.” Ashalia limped forward, her body bruised, her eyes downcast.

  “Thank you,” Bede whispered as she shuffled toward the queen. “I seek only to be returned—”

  “Do not fear, child.” Bruja cupped her jaw tenderly. “Ashalia tells me you have a dagger.”

  Bede glanced at the young girl before nodding. “It belonged to Mother. While I am grateful for your assistance—”

  “I do not wish to take it from you. I simply wish to see it.” Bruja held out her hand, her long scarlet and black nails sparkling in the light.

  Uncertain, Bede gathered the hem of her gown and reached for the dagger. She pulled it from its sheath and held it up. The ornate handle fit her palm perfectly. The stones in the handle winked and danced in the firelight, turning the blade a multi-hued shade of blue. Bede offered it to the queen.

  “Marshante has told me of a gift.” Bruja spoke calmly. “Of unlocking a key meant to save our people from the treachery ruling this court. She spoke highly of such a gift. Spoke very highly indeed.” She squeezed Bede’s hand around the hilt before she pushed Bede’s fist and the dagger to Bede’s chest. “Go now, child. Rest after you are bathed. My warrioress will protect you.” Bruja cast a look around the room, fury and something much darker in her gaze. “I give you my word. It will be as I have commanded. Any who dares to challenge will suffer my wrath.”

  “You risk much, wife.” Hema’s voice was thick with warning, his eyes glowing and narrowed.

  “No more than you, husband.” Bruja stepped past Bede, her fingers tangling in the collar of Bede’s gown. With a swift downward motion, she ripped the back out of Bede’s gown.

  A startled scream escaped Bede’s throat as she scrambled to gather the ruined gown around her nakedness. Whirling, she stared in horrified shock at Bruja who offered a faint smile.

  “Oh my Selene, forgive me.” Selordan dropped to his knees, his head bowed. He trembled slightly, his palms pressed to the floor in supplication. “I meant nothing…”

  “What evil is this?” Hema leapt to his feet, his pale face almost translucent. “She wears the mark of—”

  “Bede is the daughter of none other than Brooxa, descendent of Kalli.”

  “She is of the ilk Saltar…”

  “Doubtful, husband.” Bruja waved a hand about. “You sentenced innocents to their demise in a fit of grief. Forgetting that those who served my beloved sister also served me, served the other queens. You dare to threaten to kill one of my warrioresses! You say she is mortal, husband…” Bruja stepped closer, her gown dragging across the floor. “Tell me then, how is it she seeks not mortal food but rather sups upon blood? How is it she burns at the light of the sun? Do you believe you are more powerful, more knowing than Selene herself! Mother of all vampires, goddess of all!”

  Hema glared at her, his fangs lengthening, dripping as he stepped forward. “You challenge me? It would do you well to remember, Bruja, you are only my wife, a
consort if you will.”

  “Ashalia, see that Bede is bathed, fed, and dressed as a woman of this court. Feliara, seek out a sorceress, I have need to speak to one.” Bruja glanced around before smirking at her husband. “I do so hope you’ll enjoy your days, milord. My sisters and I have closed our chambers to you. Reinstate Gawain—return him to his mate—and we may forgive this transgression. Deny us this, and all the wrath of Selene will haunt your days and nights!” Bruja whirled, her gown fluttering behind her as she stormed past Bede and out the door. Her guards nodded to Bede and Ashalia before escorting them into the corridor.

  Bede hurried along behind them, her grasp on her attire desperate, a niggling sensation pulling at the back of her mind. Her heart dropped with fear when two doors swung inward and Ashalia ushered her inside.

  A massive tub sat full of steaming water, the scent of roses strong in the air. Several girls stood holding torches and feathers. Long curtains hung from the ceiling. Beyond them, she caught the flare of light off something. Stepping to the side, she gasped. Armor hung off a statue. Gold and silver links raced along the top of it. Two sword hilts rose above, curving to reflect golden wings.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ashalia whispered.

  “Indeed. Does the queen wear…”

  “Goodness, no.” Ashalia smiled. “’Tis your armor.”

  “Mine? I am no warrior. I only wish to be with milord, Gawain.”

  “You shall be.” Ashalia nudged her toward the tub. “But you must take your place within us again. Come, let me assist you. Once bathed you’ll feel ever so much better.”

  “I doubt it will be so,” Bede whispered, shedding her ruined gown and slipping into the hot bath, her dagger clutched to her chest. “I shall feel better when my mate is home.” She sighed, the faint sound of a door closing barely penetrated her melancholy.

  “He will be soon.” Bruja patted her shoulder. “Before his return, I think it is only fair you understand the full truth.”

  “Milady?”

  “You are one of us. Of our kind. Forsaken centuries ago. It has come to pass the one responsible for this entire mess is gathering force, struggling to get free…”

  “Saltar. Yes, I heard of him. Gawain does not think he is free.” Bede raised a hand to touch her throat, her fingers dragging across the slight bump beneath her flesh.

  “He is not. He shall never be free, Bede. Because the gift Marshante told me of is you. The stone you wear around your neck is part of a far greater crown than even Hema has. You are a gatekeeper in your own right. Within you lies more power than you realize. Together, with others like you, this war shall not come to pass and victory shall be within our grasp. ’Tis not an easy thing, my dear, but you shall be stronger for it.”

  “But I…”

  “It will take time, dearest. Until then, rest, I will call Gawain home to you,” Bruja declared, bustling from the room, followed by two armed women.

  Bede stared after her, unease, uncertainty, and hope tangling within her chest.

  Chapter 15

  A low, rumbling growl filled Gawain’s throat at the shaft of moonlit glittering on the slow moving water. From his vantage point he could see the temple, the massive stone pillars reaching high into the night sky. Figures mingled, meandering around the courtyard, but none were who he sought.

  Rubbing his throat, he winced at the flare of pain in his arm and lifted his shirt sleeve. A dark, purplish bruise discolored the flesh—yet another indication of his connection. Two nights of dreams so hot they could peel his flesh from his bones, and now nothing. He couldn’t sense her, there was no connection at all.

  Perhaps Selene had granted her a boon. May chance she’d been given her life back. It was all he could hope for, though he knew it was a lie. Turning his attention from the wound, he focused on the throng below. A familiar figure stepped into the moonlight, his pale flesh and hair standing out. Gaunt eyes stared vacantly at the mortals come to pray, and Gawain’s lips tilted at the corner. Indeed, he would have much fun with this.

  Sliding the long blade from its sheath, he teleported to the shadows at the edge of the courtyard. Anagor’s presence told him he was spot on. Una was here, and he would return her to her sister no matter who got in his way.

  His nose wrinkled in distaste, death’s stench clung to the sunwalker’s skeleton-like figure. Anagor grimaced, revealing his fangs had shrunk beneath his gums. He was starving.

  “I did not believe you would let it be.” Anagor shuffled toward him.

  “I will have the child or your head.” Gawain grasped his sword.

  “Nay, you may take my head but it will not be my end. You seek the girl child, but you are too late.”

  “If you have killed…”

  “Nay.” For the first time since Gawain had met him, he appeared resigned to more than his fate. “Selene has gifted her already. She is young, and will grow into a beauty, of that you can be certain. However, she has no memory of her sister, Amuliana saw to it. If you wish to seek her, look to the future, Gawain. Una’s fate, her future, lies within the arms of the warrior who you’ve met. Una must remain under Amuliana’s care for the moment—so she can be safe.”

  “Why would you think I would believe anything of a male who drank his own mate to death while she carried his spawn?”

  “Would you risk the girl child’s death?” Anagor glanced behind him, his brows drawn together. “Amuliana will rise shortly. If she looks upon you, Una’s life will be in danger. I have no desire to take the child’s life, but if Amuliana orders it I will have no choice.”

  Gawain hesitated. Anagor’s words rang true. He was a slave to his mistress, mindless, her orders were to be followed without question. Still, to leave…

  “Gawain, you must not endanger the child. Seek her another time.” Queen Bruja’s voice filtered through his head like smoke. “Quickly, you must return to us. Bede is in danger.”

  Rage filled him, his body tensing, fingers tightening on the hilt of his sword. He turned from Anagor, his eyes narrowing. Who would dare to challenge him? Hema would not dare to go against their laws. Attacking the claimed mate of another, especially one of such power as he had, would mean death to the fool dumb enough to go after his mate. Even a king would not be beyond the wrath of an enraged vampire looking to defend his other half.

  “Go,” Anagor wheezed, pulled by an invisible hand toward the temple doors. “Return to your world before all is lost. I will do what I can, if it be the only thing I may do. My tarnished soul will protect the child as much as possible.”

  Ignoring Anagor’s fading voice, Gawain teleported to the chamber he’d spent the day in. Pacing, his instincts fed his rage, sending flames shooting through his veins. Any who dared to touch his mate would feel his wrath, he vowed. They would all perish by his hand if they harmed his Bede. It was more than the instinct, more than just the mating of two vampires, fate had thrown them together. Gawain froze, realization dawning. Bede was his by fate, by a choice of a god, but he loved her by his own choice.

  “My queen?” Gawain hoped she would hear, hoped Bede would survive long enough for him to return. “Please, protect her until I can get to her.”

  A portal formed, opening into a shimmering pool of blue. Sucking in a breath, Gawain stepped into the light. Every sense on alert—inhaling for the faintest of scents of his mate and the heady scent of fresh blood and anger.

  * * * *

  Bruja stared at the sleeping woman on her lady in waiting’s bed. Dark mahogany hair spilled in waves across the pillow, the tattoos dancing beneath her skin. Beyond the safety of the walls of the palace a great force was amassing. They came for the girl, for her head. With her death, Saltar would feel secure in his plans.

  Gawain had chosen well.

  Turning, she moved to stare out the window, her gaze following the horizon. Saltar’s loyal soldiers had gathered. Their lord’s will like a worm within their black hearts. She could clearly see the flares of fires, of torches, a
s they assembled, plotting some attack. Weakened by the distance, Bede would stand no chance against those killers. Yet, she would be forced to fight. Freshly blooded, mortal, immortal, vampire or allie of the vampires, it would matter naught.

  “Majesty?” Ashalia approached carefully. Armor encased her figure. A sword hung from her hip, a bow strapped across her back, the quiver full of arrows.

  “Soon, child. Has my husband thought on his actions?”

  “Indeed. He wishes to speak to you.”

  “For all he is, Hema is a good man.” Bruja smiled. “Tell him I will see him here in my chamber. Tell him the army is growing, I can taste the darkness within their souls.”

  “As you wish, majesty.”

  “Ashalia, return quickly. You will need to assist Bede in her preparations.”

  “She is strong enough?”

  “No.” Bruja listened to her servant’s fading footsteps. With a sigh she voiced her fears, praying silently she was wrong. “No, she is not. Her power comes from her love with Gawain, from the purity of that love. Until he comes she will be weakened.”

  * * * *

  Feeling like a painted doll, Bede stood next to Ashalia in the main hall. Lined up around them hundreds of warriors hovered. Expressionless, they waited for Hema. Unease flared, no good could come of putting her in armor.

  Bede leaned over to whisper in Ashalia’s ear. “What is this about?”

  “We are at war.” Ashalia offered a sad smile, her gaze darting to those assembled.

  “War?” Every muscle tensed, her eyes darted to the harried-looking man striding into the room, his body covered by heavy gold armor. A chill raced down her spine as he turned to face those assembled.

  “It is a sad day when we are threatened by the filth that has tainted our kind for centuries. In two days hence, our red moon celebration will be upon us. This night, however, a blood moon shall rise. Saltar’s army has stirred, rumors of his return have give life to their hopes. We must fight yet again to protect our kind. Blood shall be spilled, lives and limbs lost, but know no fear, my warriors. We shall have victory.”