ringing sound.
Heath swore, pressing back against the wall. “Guards! Guards!” he cried out, raising the alarm.
Blood oozed from the one’s boot, but he hadn’t done any real damage. Still, their anger at his tactics was palpable as they closed in.
A war cry sounded from down the corridor.
Heath caught sight of Atira running toward them, her sword and shield out and her eyes ablaze. The center one turned to face her as the other two continued to attack him. Heath concentrated on his own defense, exchanging a flurry of blows with the other two.
Atira rammed her opponent with her shield, knocking him off balance. At the same time, she slashed at the buttocks of the fool that had ignored her. Her sword sliced through his leather trous; Heath saw crimson in the tip of her blade.
“ Bragnects ,” she hissed as she brought her shield into position before her, her sword held low, ready to stab into her foe’s groin. “I’ll cut your—”
Shouts came down the hall as castle guards came running.
The men broke and fled, disappearing into the darkness in the opposite direction.
Atira stepped to Heath’s side, scanning for other threats. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Heath growled, keeping his own weapons high.
His men came pounding up, weapons and torches in hand. “There were three of them,” Heath started.
“There is a blood trail,” Atira said. “We could—”
“No,” Heath said. “You men, follow that trail. Search the castle. But have a care. No man goes it alone. It could be a trap.”
The guards nodded grimly, and headed off down the corridor, torches high.
Atira’s face was flushed with excitement, her eyes bright with bloodlust as she came to stand at his side.
Gods, she was beautiful, and his body responded to her nearness. He wanted—
“You let them surprise you.” Atira glowered at him, but then her look turned to concern. “You’re bleeding.”
“I was distracted,” Heath replied, ignoring the warmth trickling down his neck. “I didn’t think the lords would try for me.”
“I’m not sure they—” Atira paused. “We need to report to the Warlord.”
“My father first.” Heath started down the hall. He expected an argument, but Atira followed without a word, focused on watching their backs.
ATIRA WOULD HAVE RUN, BUT HEATH KEPT THE pace at a fast walk. No sense attracting other predators.
Atira scanned the shadows around them but sensed no threat. The sight of Prest and Rafe at the door to Othur’s chambers told her that Heath wasn’t the only one turning to his father for answers.
Prest stiffened as they approached, his gaze on the blood on Heath’s neck.
“Skies above,” Rafe said softly. “What happened to you?”
“Ambush,” Atira said.
Heath sheathed his weapons. “Who’s within?”
“The Warprize and the Warlord, the healer Eln, Lady Anna, and the babe. And your father,” Rafe said as he raised his hand to rap on the door.
“Wait,” Heath said. “Let me clean this up before Lara sees—”
Atira reached over his shoulder and rapped the door. “Learn the cost of being distracted .”
Heath sighed as they heard the bolt slide back and the door begin to open. “There’s going to be two of the Guard here shortly,” he said. “And others will come, with reports.”
“Wise,” Prest observed.
Heath slipped inside. Atira paused in the doorway. “Prest, you might tell them that Heath was attacked. He might forget to mention it.”
“City-dwellers.” Prest flashed his grin at her. “So forgetful.”
“We’ll see to it,” Rafe assured her.
Atira gave them a nod of thanks, and went through the door, sheathing her weapons as she entered the room.
HEATH SLIPPED PAST THE DOOR, GREETING ELN with a nod. The cut was on his other side—with any luck the healer wouldn’t see it.
Othur was seated in a chair by the fire, a blanket over his legs, ready to play the invalid if necessary.
Lara and Anna were standing near him, still in each
Heath swore, pressing back against the wall. “Guards! Guards!” he cried out, raising the alarm.
Blood oozed from the one’s boot, but he hadn’t done any real damage. Still, their anger at his tactics was palpable as they closed in.
A war cry sounded from down the corridor.
Heath caught sight of Atira running toward them, her sword and shield out and her eyes ablaze. The center one turned to face her as the other two continued to attack him. Heath concentrated on his own defense, exchanging a flurry of blows with the other two.
Atira rammed her opponent with her shield, knocking him off balance. At the same time, she slashed at the buttocks of the fool that had ignored her. Her sword sliced through his leather trous; Heath saw crimson in the tip of her blade.
“ Bragnects ,” she hissed as she brought her shield into position before her, her sword held low, ready to stab into her foe’s groin. “I’ll cut your—”
Shouts came down the hall as castle guards came running.
The men broke and fled, disappearing into the darkness in the opposite direction.
Atira stepped to Heath’s side, scanning for other threats. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Heath growled, keeping his own weapons high.
His men came pounding up, weapons and torches in hand. “There were three of them,” Heath started.
“There is a blood trail,” Atira said. “We could—”
“No,” Heath said. “You men, follow that trail. Search the castle. But have a care. No man goes it alone. It could be a trap.”
The guards nodded grimly, and headed off down the corridor, torches high.
Atira’s face was flushed with excitement, her eyes bright with bloodlust as she came to stand at his side.
Gods, she was beautiful, and his body responded to her nearness. He wanted—
“You let them surprise you.” Atira glowered at him, but then her look turned to concern. “You’re bleeding.”
“I was distracted,” Heath replied, ignoring the warmth trickling down his neck. “I didn’t think the lords would try for me.”
“I’m not sure they—” Atira paused. “We need to report to the Warlord.”
“My father first.” Heath started down the hall. He expected an argument, but Atira followed without a word, focused on watching their backs.
ATIRA WOULD HAVE RUN, BUT HEATH KEPT THE pace at a fast walk. No sense attracting other predators.
Atira scanned the shadows around them but sensed no threat. The sight of Prest and Rafe at the door to Othur’s chambers told her that Heath wasn’t the only one turning to his father for answers.
Prest stiffened as they approached, his gaze on the blood on Heath’s neck.
“Skies above,” Rafe said softly. “What happened to you?”
“Ambush,” Atira said.
Heath sheathed his weapons. “Who’s within?”
“The Warprize and the Warlord, the healer Eln, Lady Anna, and the babe. And your father,” Rafe said as he raised his hand to rap on the door.
“Wait,” Heath said. “Let me clean this up before Lara sees—”
Atira reached over his shoulder and rapped the door. “Learn the cost of being distracted .”
Heath sighed as they heard the bolt slide back and the door begin to open. “There’s going to be two of the Guard here shortly,” he said. “And others will come, with reports.”
“Wise,” Prest observed.
Heath slipped inside. Atira paused in the doorway. “Prest, you might tell them that Heath was attacked. He might forget to mention it.”
“City-dwellers.” Prest flashed his grin at her. “So forgetful.”
“We’ll see to it,” Rafe assured her.
Atira gave them a nod of thanks, and went through the door, sheathing her weapons as she entered the room.
HEATH SLIPPED PAST THE DOOR, GREETING ELN with a nod. The cut was on his other side—with any luck the healer wouldn’t see it.
Othur was seated in a chair by the fire, a blanket over his legs, ready to play the invalid if necessary.
Lara and Anna were standing near him, still in each
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