Forsaken Heart Read online

  He shivered at the ancient wheeze of the wind blowing along his flesh. The chill crept beneath the leather of his cloak, his tunic, to the flesh hidden by his clothes, caressing like an old friend—or a lover. Remaining perfectly still, he listened to the air, the crackle of it gathering and swirling before exploding in a shower of dust. It was time.

  “I’ve been expecting you, Gawain, last remaining of the queen’s warriors.” From the shadows a hunched figure stepped out. Long, dusty robes flowed from head to foot, moss and leaves tangled within the hem. A gnarled hand slipped from the folds of the thin robe, the fingers wiggling in a familiar motion. Mildew and decay clung to the air around her as she moved her staff forward, pointing the shiny round head at him. “The gate will open in but moments. What lies on the other side is dangerous but bound to you.” She paused, her fingers dancing on the wood. “Fear not what you find, embrace it as you would your sword. Embrace your heart and she will guide you to the future you are destined to have, forsake her and you will not survive the rising red moon.”

  With a faint tickle, time and space embraced, creating a doorway. Gawain shook his head. Gatekeepers, goddesses, what next? A sorceress? Darkness filled the space, the cool night air a relief as he stepped forward. He passed through the portal, tensing at the shrill scream of a child ripping through the fabric of time and sending his rage racing over him.

  His sword in hand, Gawain stepped into the darkness of the woods. A small fire flickered and danced in its pit. Several frail bodies were huddled beneath the rocking wagon, their hands bound to the underside of the box. The rickety cage on the back trembled and shook, screams of pain and rage filling the night. Grunts of pain and muted curses told of a struggle as the screams grew louder, the sound of flesh connecting with flesh deafening to him. The frail looking horse nickered in fear, and dogs appeared from beneath the wagon, growling and snarling at him. With a low roar, he sent the dogs cowering under the rickety cart.

  The urge to kill lengthened his fangs. Venom dripped from the tips, the taste of blood on his tongue. He swung his weapon easily, his eyes focused on the lumbering figure pulling a small, delicate girl from the back of the wagon. An older girl, her hair in disarray, her clothes ripped and torn, fought with the man. Her nails raked over his flesh, digging furrows that ran red with blood. Rage and fear filled her face. Fury lashed at him as the brute swung, smacking her to the ground. Blood flowed down her chin, the scent sweet, intoxicating. Gathering herself, she scrambled to her feet, launching every ounce of her weight at the man’s back. A dagger in one hand, her fingers tangled in his hair, she swung wildly.

  “Nay, you’ll not touch her!” Her voice shook with tears and emotion as she fought.

  Teleporting to the figure, Gawain’s sword sunk deep into the man’s fat flesh. The grate of steel on bone shivered up the blade, through the hilt to his hand. With each shift of the blade he felt the bones give, the flesh yield. The stench of blood and fat filled the air. It oozed over the blade, staining the slaver’s already filthy clothes as it pooled beneath his feet. Blood frothed and gurgled from the man’s lips, spattering across the girl’s face, her pale hair already streaked with it. Gawain jerked the blade free, balancing it in his palm, and raised it for a killing blow.

  His prey spun, massive fists rising to terrorize his assailant. His eyes widened in horror. Color oozed from his face. The throbbing of his blood beneath his flesh was loud in the night air. Gawain glared the man into submission, his rounded body shaking as he stumbled backward. Gawain’s booted feet took him closer and closer with each stride. He coughed, gagging at the sourness of the man’s fear mixed with bodily waste.

  “Frails are not to be toyed with,” Gawain ground out and grabbed the girl, spinning her away, his sword at the ready as the man heaved upward, a dagger clutched in his hand. Gawain’s sword rested easy on his palm, ready, the surface slicked with blood as he faced the coward.

  “She’s mine to do with as I choose.” He gurgled, collapsing to the ground, his weapon falling from pudgy fingers. “Paid ten pieces of gold for ’em both, and I aim to get a might of use out ’em.”

  “Now she’s mine,” Gawain declared. Raising his sword, he drove it through the man’s chest, pinning his twitching frame to the ground. He stepped back, his gaze sweeping the clearing. Males such as this did not travel alone, his cohorts would be close. He’d need to find and kill them…

  Searing pain lanced through him, splitting his chest. Gawain glanced down. The thin, sharp tip of a blade stuck from his chest. He touched the blade and snarled. The metal was warm, when it should have been cold. Shock slammed into him as the blade began to glow, turning a searing red before changing back to normal, or as normal as it could be with blood racing down the weapon.

  Whirling, his hand already scrabbling for the dagger’s hilt in his back, he grabbed his assailant by the throat and lifted. Grunting as he pulled the weapon free, his lips curled upward. “You’d do well, wench, to know your place.”

  “If you think I mean to let you do her harm…” Sputtering, her nails digging into his wrists, the girl’s brown eyes stared into his. Fear lay within the depths but something else stirred. Something dark, dangerous, easily recognized if one knew what they were looking for.

  His fingers moved, tightening, loosening as he pulled her against him. Inhaling, he caught the faint scent of blood, fear, sweat, fire, and something sultry, sweet, and light on his tongue. Drawing the scent deep, he wallowed in it, his body responding to the aroma he’d dreamed of but never found.

  Gawain inhaled slowly, his muscles tightening, burning. Using the tip of her dagger, he pushed the material of her shift aside. The scrolling marks of a serpent flared before his eyes. It coiled and danced beneath the girl’s flesh.

  “Shite!” Pulling her close enough to feel the pebbled hardness of her nipples, he tilted his head, lips pulled back from his fangs. “Your mortal flesh holds no interest for me.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, belittling his declaration. His interest stirred, pooling in his blood with hot, heavy intent. For the first time in his life he felt the stirring in his loins, the threat to his vows real. Shaken, he stared at the girl, his mind racing as he wondered what it all meant. Suddenly, the gatekeeper’s words came back to him and he shuddered, was this the one he was to watch out for—the one who would guide him to his future?

  “Let her go, she meant no harm.” Tiny hands pulled on his sleeves. “She sought only to protect.”

  Irritation flared at the dart of heat in the girl’s eyes with the other’s struggles. Ignoring her, Gawain turned to stare into the wide, startled gaze of a young girl. “Stab me in the back be what she’s done.”

  “’Tis a wound you show no signs of ill from,” the older girl choked out, her nails digging crescents into his wrist.

  “Aye, and she feels remorse for it. Don’t you, Bede? Please, she meant no disrespect, milord, she was trying to protect me.”

  “Una, tell him nothing. Let the cur rot in hell for all we care.”

  “Keep your tongue behind those teeth.” Gawain flashed his fangs at her before turning back to the youngster at his knee. “How many more are there?”

  “What?”

  “A man such as him would travel with two or three more…where be they at?”

  “He was alone, milord.” The girl tugged again. “Please, sir, Bede meant only to save me.”

  Heaving a breath, Gawain dropped the girl, flashing her dagger before her eyes then sliding in into his belt. A pull on the hilt and one sickening squick and his sword was free of the human’s remains. Hunger tightened in his gut, the need to feed overpowering. Sniffing at the blood, he made a face and wiped his sword clean before sliding it into his sheath. He hadn’t drank rancid blood in a millennia and he wasn’t about to now.

  He glanced at the other humans hovering together, their fear a rotten stench. Which of the lot was the one King Hema sought he didn’t know.

  Next to him, the babe clung to his
hand. The elder girl glared at him, her breasts heaving, eyes narrowed. It would be one of these two, but which? Instinct told him both were important.

  “By what are you addressed?” The younger girl smiled at him.

  “There’s no time. Come.” Grabbing her arm, Gawain glanced around, unease flitting along his skin. There were more slavers out there, watching them, he could feel it. Dorstan’s warning echoed in his mind. He had to get the child to safety, which meant getting to a gate on this side of his world.

  “You’re not taking…” Scrambling from the ground, the dark-haired girl darted over to slap at his hands. “You’re not taking her. Leave her be, you…you…” Bede’s voice stuttered to a halt, her eyes widening when he turned to her. “Dear gods above.” She stumbled back, her hands pressed to her mouth. “No, ’tis not possible. They were only dreams…nightmares. Hardly omens…”

  “She’s coming with me.” He leaned in, her warm sweet breath ghosting over his flesh. “I’ve a task, and I’ll not leave it unfinished. Not for a weak mortal who knows nothing of gratitude.”

  Straightening, Una’s arm still within his grasp, he strode into the forest, the mist swirling around his ankles. He hid a smile at the faint echo of Bede’s heart beating, the furious tattoo marking the time it took her to decide to follow him. He listened to the others scurry into the forest, the thought of how they escaped as fleeting as smoke through a keyhole. With a glance through the darkness, he turned.

  Only the faltering steps of the babe halted him deep within the cover of trees. He glanced upward. The dark velvet of night was peeling away to reveal the pale blue of a daylight sky.

  “We rest here. Draw a fire,” he ordered, his fingers clenching his sword. “Daylight already. Was later than she said. Dangerous to be out, but no relief of it.” Shaking off his displeasure, Gawain appraised the situation. He had two females in his care, one no older than those who served their queen…the other older, her curves pressing against the thin material of her wrap.

  She worked quickly, her dark hair falling over her forehead to hide her delicate features. In the muted light she looked innocent, ageless. He felt an unfamiliar draw toward her. Like an invisible thread, he could feel himself being pulled closer, his balance off kilter. Her scent rested on his tongue, sweeter than wine or blood. It flirted with his control, pushing him toward the brink.

  Gawain licked his lips, his eyes tracing the pale column of her neck. His fangs sharpened, the need to bury them in the throbbing vein stronger than his conditioning…yet he held himself back. To drink of a woman was to lower himself to those of the Saltar’s Keir-Tak ruthless, lawless clan, and he refused to sink below his station.

  With a guttural oath, he spun to pace the confines of the small clearing. There would be no travel until sundown, he couldn’t risk tracing with both of them. Resigned to the wait, he settled on a log and picked up a stone. His recent feed meant that sleep would not be needed for several days. Instead, he focused on planning their journey.

  * * * *

  Gawain glanced upward and swore profusely before turning to glare at the woman sitting a short distance away. Huddled near the small fire, her body trembled from the damp cold clinging to the air. Her thin shift offered little protection from the chill. Her blue fingers were tangled in a threadbare wrap which offered little in the way of cover. Her fingers had a sickly pallor as she released the wrap and shifted closer to the fire, her hands coming up to cup at the flames. Modesty had been forgotten in the face of warmth.

  Licking his lips, he stared at the erect nipples poking at the pale fabric. What would they taste like? The sweetest of the holy wine or as tart as aged blood? Her flesh would give beneath the points of his fangs, allowing him to draw the nectar running through the blue veins that stood out in stark relief of her skin.

  “Would it not be best to travel now, during the day rather than in the dark of night?” Bede chattered. “The sun is high and provides—”

  “Aye, the sun is high and provides warmth to those in need of it.” Gawain trailed the stone down his sword. “But we wait for night to fall. It is by my order, and you’d do well to recall such things, girl.” His ears picked up the heated curse she muttered under her breath. Hiding a smile, he slid his fingers down the blade, listening to the hum of metal. The blade sang to him, reminding him of its power, its purpose, as he trailed the stone over it once more.

  The gatekeeper for this area would be hard to find. She was a woman prone to isolating herself, powerful, mysterious, and filled with a bitter distrust of all species. The last who had sought her out had lost a hand for their troubles. Still, he would need her gift to get the two females back.

  Frustration broiled like hunger, every inch of him aching with it as he rose to pace the confines. Two females, weak, mortal, what would the king need of them? More important perhaps, what would he have to pay to get them back? Hema had sent enough gold with him to get the one he wanted back, but until Gawain was certain which it was he would need to consider paying for both of them. Perhaps he could barter with a keeper, but it was unlikely.

  Licking his fangs, he moaned at the soft, sweet taste of blood upon his tongue. He stumbled, the hunger pushing against his control. Another day and he’d have to feed, a fact he knew should not be. He’d drank well, dining on the supplest of hosts before Dorstan had seen to it he’d been cast from the court, not to return until the older vampire believed he’d regained his honor.

  A simple task had become much more complicated. If he didn’t return the king would banish him, and he’d lose what little ranking he still possessed. To return alone would garner him a painful death. Returning with the girls would earn him his position as king’s guard back…but there was something more, some thread beneath the surface drawing his attention yet waiting in the shadows. He knew Dorstan would have no issue with telling lies, increasing the weight of his failure tenfold. Under such trickery Hema would blame him, punish him for his lack of intent, aye, he’d be labeled a renegade. Shunned for not following the king’s orders, he’d be relegated even further to the fringes of society.

  “There’s a farmstead east of here.” Una’s soft voice drew his attention to where she lay staring into the flames. “Can you not hunt there?”

  “How…” Gawain narrowed his eyes at her. A hard knot formed in his gut, distrust like venom in his blood. “What do you…”

  “You don’t feed on women and children.” Una sat up, her back pressing against his knees. “It is clear to me. You’ve two who are worthy prey here, we are weak compared to you, but you’re thinking of a hunt rather than drinking of our blood.”

  “What nonsense you speak.”

  “Bede sees more than she knows, knows more than she believes, but ’tis started. You’ve a task yes, but to prove victorious you need her.” Una turned to him, a smile on her face. “Half a day east lays your prey, but another comes. One who will be here before the darkness rises.”

  “Foolish child, you talk of things you know nothing of.”

  Una stood, patted his cheek, and shrugged, her voice dropping to the barest hint of sound. “I speak of what I see, vampire. You can hide behind your gruffness all you want but your soul is clean. You desire something you’ve never had, yet fear failure, but you’ll be victorious. Do not worry about Bede, she is lost in thought and won’t hear but what she desires to. Already she plots her escape—but it is not an escape she desires. Have faith, milord. Victory is within your grasp.”

  Stupefied, Gawain watched her walk away. Her words bounced around his mind before settling. He grinned. His task was uncovered. He had but to get the babe back. Tonight he would feed and scry for the gatekeeper. Once located, he’d take the youngster and return to his king.

  If the thought of leaving Bede behind bothered him, he forced the niggling emotion away. Soon he’d be alone, sipping on whiskey, safe within the confines of his cabin as he wanted.

  Chapter 2

  Gawain watched Bede running her finge
rs through Una’s long hair, smoothing the tangles out with care. The song she was humming so softly was familiar—achingly so, yet he could not place it.

  He moved closer, an invisible hand guiding him toward the pair. Silent, standing behind her, he closed his eyes, the soothing sound of his mother’s voice playing in his memory. Her voice stroked over him, soothing his mind, easing his heart as he let the words, the melody, slip past his defenses.

  Every instinct in his body screamed at him to get closer, to drink from Bede and appease the hunger, but he held fast to his creed. Drinking from a woman was beyond bad luck, it was downright foolish. Aye, their blood was sweeter but you had to drink more frequently than with a man. Frail as women were, the likelihood of killing was higher. Unless, the one you drank of was your mate. Then it was a rarity one would kill…but it happened. He knew of only one instance, and had no desire to follow in the path of one who was beyond death.

  Contrary to what most of his brethren wanted, he felt no deep compunction to be mated. A female was a bothersome chore. She would be in the way, constantly nagging, interfering with his work. A soft body to warm his bed, to give him children, to know the pleasures of which he had long denied himself.

  Shaking off his unease, he turned. He needed to find a way to separate the sisters. First though, he needed to feed. Mayhap he should seek the farmstead. In this time, vampires were only stories told to scare children. No one would even question him.

  He ducked beneath a branch and stepped deeper into the shadows of the woods. Earthy, the soft scent carried on the wind stirred his urge to hunt. Faint but easily identifiable, the tang of a young man’s pulsing blood drifted through the leaves. A slow smirk crossed Gawain’s face. A few hours and his prey would be within striking distance.

  “Tonight.” Gawain nodded. “Tonight I’ll hunt then return to King Hema.”

  * * * *

  Bede watched the tall, stalwart man prowling the edge of camp. She frowned when he stepped around a patch of sunlight without breaking stride. Thigh high leather boots blended into the black pants he wore, his dark tunic covered by a long, hoodless cloak. One side of the cloak was tucked back, revealing the curve of one hip and flank. He clutched at his sword, a dark snarl twisting his features. The broadsword was different than anything she’d seen. It was long, wide, and as straight as an arrow. Fine lines, much like the ivy that clung to the walls of the cottage, decorated it.