Golden's Rule (3 page)

“Aye, there, what are ya doin’ out of line?”

Susanna turned and found herself face to face with a disgusting leather vest covered in what looked like a year’s worth of food spills and stains. She backed up. And up. Giant.
Holy moly.

“Aye, did ya no’ ‘ear me?”

Tilting her head, she tried to figure out what he meant. A sign behind him caught her eye and she planted her hands on her hips. She’d just escaped, barely, from Death Stalkers and now this huge, stupid giant thought to sell her as a slave.

“Listen to me, you idiot. I’m not a slave.”

He blinked ginormous brown eyes and scrunched up his face like she’d spoken too fast. “Aye, ya are wearin’ my slave clothes, ya are mine.”

She glanced down at her tattered gown and felt bile rise up in her throat. Her dress had been another torture. The Death Stalkers couldn’t touch her, when they tried, somehow or another they went crashing into walls. But they could whip her. And they could make her play their slave. She’d put the dress on her in exchange for food. She’d worn it to serve at the head table, to show the strength of the vile Dark Lord.

It had once been a parody of beautiful against the fresh whip marks marring her skin.

Anger hit her system hard enough to make her pause in the process of lashing into the stupid giant. The huge guy took it as a sign she was simply willing to go along with him. He reached out and grabbed her arm. Instead of the spell protecting her sending him crashing into the crowds of people, she called on her magic, filling herself with the golden glow. Her power flooded her to her fingertips. It had been years since she’d been able to cast a spell. Part of her felt badly for the giant now at the receiving end of her torture. But part of her laughed at the chance to teach someone evil—the slaver—a lesson.

Calling on a truly awful spell, she cast it with full force, like a too-tight sapling branch that was released, right in his face. He staggered back with a loud cry into a table, knocking over the large pewter tankards and spilling yellow foaming ale all over the group of men and women sitting there.

A fight broke out immediately with the giant trying to inform the table it was Susanna’s fault. The spell had swollen his face though, including his tongue, so all he managed to do was mangle his speech—which she thought already sounded like he had a mouthful of marbles—into something that sounded like he was braying like a donkey.

Two feet from her, a man dressed in black and carrying a sword at his hip started over to her from where he was securing a line of women for sale.

“What do we have here? A feisty one?”

She didn’t respond. Once she would have. Once she would have tried to talk, but the evil in this one’s soul bought him no kindness. She stripped him of his sword, kicked him in the gut and used the sword hilt to bash him in the temple. He fell in a messy heap in the muddy ale and tankard mess. Not wasting time, she raced to the line of women, used a spell to untangle the heavy chains binding them and motioned with her chin to the crowds.

“Go, get new clothes, and get out of here.”

A redhead frowned, looking confused. “Who are you?”

The dark-haired beauty next to her grinned and winked. “Does it matter? Let’s go.”

“We should help you,” the first woman argued, eyeing Susanna’s clothes and wounds. “You don’t look able to hold off the crowd alone.”

Susanna glanced over her shoulder at two more giants. No way was she fighting them. They were too big. Turning back to three women who still remained, she smiled and shrugged. “I’ve got some pent-up frustration, you know? You go, I’m not up on that block anyway and believe me no one is ever caging me again.”

The women exchanged a look and nodded. “I’m out of here. I’ll get my family and we’ll be back. Slavery is illegal.”

Susanna nodded and turned to face the two giants. She spotted a sturdy table and jumped on the chair, then the tabletop. The giants both lumbered over, looking confused, like someone had taken their toy away for no good reason.

She smiled. She’d barely left her own imprisonment behind, could still hear the cries of others in pain, but inside she was bursting with life. Home. From here, she could go home but first, she’d make sure these bastards didn’t show their faces again. And definitely didn’t sell others into slavery.

“Now, why did ya do that?”

“Slavery is forbidden.” She used a spell to amplify her voice and focused on the crowds beginning to double in size around the slaver’s stall. “In fact, the Immortal Council has marked it as an illegal trade. Everywhere. In this place”—she gestured with borrowed sword—“it carries a fifty-year sentence.”

Both giants grumbled at this. The crowd didn’t appear too happy either. Well, too bad, so sad. She levelled them all with a glare and shook her head as if she could sympathise. Not.

“Look, that’s the way it is, and I’m here to put an end to it, got it? Now, pack up, hit the road, or I will take you in.” She was betting on a bluff. Her foster mom, Star, a vampire with more style than Madonna, had always advised a good bluff when outnumbered.

Suddenly, she felt like someone had dipped her in icy water. The slavers disappeared from her focus and deep in her bones she knew—with absolute certainty—the Death Stalkers were on their way. She shouldn’t know such a thing. No one could trace a shift from one location to another, but she did. Her insides felt like someone was wringing them dry like a soaked towel.

Through the crowds, she spotted a man who stood out from the others as if she stared down a kaleidoscope and everything but his face spun in shards of colour. She froze. He was tall, very tall with midnight black hair cut short but long enough that his hair dragged down over his furrowed brow. He turned more fully towards her and she stood, mesmerised by his light eyes and the way his dark goatee framed his strong face. Her heart slammed against her chest.

Mine.

Whoa.
Blinking, she exhaled only then realising she’d been holding her breath. What the hell? As if life hadn’t thrown enough curve balls her way, now, dirty and disgusting from years of torture, she stumbled into the man who might be her bonded?

The chill returned, signalling that the Death Stalkers would be there any moment, she was certain. Never again. She’d never be caged again.

With a rush, the market resurfaced and the man who might or might not be her bonded disappeared in the flood of faces. Another giant lumbered up to her, clearly still keen on getting her to settle down. Smiling, she tossed her hair and drew her power. She’d practise on the slavers then she’d teach the Death Stalkers a lesson on trying to hold a witch.

Torque concentrated through the crowds of people and spotted the blonde again. Had he ever seen anyone so beautiful before?

No. Hell no.

She shook her head angrily, said something he couldn’t hear and gestured with her arm, a no-nonsense downward slash of her hand accompanied by a toss of her hair that made his gut clench with desire. She had such fire. What would it be like to bed a woman like that? To have all the heat directed at him? His heart sped up like some crazy horse scenting sweet grain after a too-long ride at the mere thought.

Torque dragged his eyes away from her long enough to see what had to be the biggest male he’d ever come across facing off with her. The beast had to be a half-giant. Standing at nearly eight feet tall and built like a forward on the Scottish rugby team. Giants dealt in all things illegal in the underworld. They would sell their own mothers if it turned a good profit. As Torque watched, this one raised his hand to the woman, as if to hit her.

Something like a shot of pure adrenaline raced through Torque. He’d once tried the illegal substances known to get you higher than a crack addict with a hit of heroin. This was ten times stronger. Everything around him slowed down, or felt like it, while his body surged to battle readiness. His temper rose to the boiling point. Every muscle hardened ready to engage in the fight.

It startled the hell out of him. He never came to the rescue. Never.

But he had to admit that his body wanted him over there, kicking ass. Instead, he stood frozen in place, trying to pull his shit together before he could head towards her or else simply dive in, sword drawn, and slice the giant in half.

“Torque? What the hell’s up, man?”

Torque turned back to Jaxon and frowned at the vampire’s confused look.

“Follow me,” he said, already turning to head through the crowd. He pushed people out of the way, not even sparing a glance at the curses that rang out at his rough treatment. His focus zeroed in on the blonde. She ducked and grabbed a pot off a rack behind her. He stumbled to a halt, watching her smoothly whip around to slam the pan square in the slaver’s ugly face with a swing Babe Ruth would have envied. Left-handed too, because in her right she carried a sword.

The giant sailed backwards into the wall behind him. Feminine laughter pealed out over the suddenly quiet crowd. The laugh was pure, sweet, and full of something that sounded a hell of lot like fun.

“Well, damn, I think the slaver might have made a bit of a miscalculation, huh?”

Torque didn’t bother to respond to Jaxon. Instead, he watched her fling the frying pan at the giant, jump down with a wince from a table, hook her straight blonde hair behind her ear with her free hand, and narrow her eyes at the prospective buyers as if she were sizing them up for who would feel her wrath next. She was barefoot. Her dingy white dress was ragged, ripped along the calf-length hem and still it fit her like some fairy princess gown complete with wisps of tattered chiffon flowing from the snug, scoop-necked bodice. One man moved forward and she crouched down, the battle stance fluid as she faced off, sword up and her body full of power.

The guy said something and she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. I don’t care what I look like, I’m not a slave and if you think for one instant I’m letting you or your grubby, nasty, disgusting paws on me you simply don’t understand the day I’ve had so far. Now, back off, buddy, there’s more trouble than you coming this way.”

“Damn, I think I just fell in love,” Jaxon muttered.

He tossed a glare at Jaxon over his shoulder. The vampire had a smug shit-eating grin on his face, as if he’d scored one over on Torque. The damn nosey vampire knew him too well.

“Were you saying something about my life? I think a mini-Torque lecture or something like that?” Jaxon asked.

“Shut the hell up. We’ll discuss your taste in women later. Right now we have to go help her.”

Jaxon anchored his fists on his hips, more than ready to argue.

Before he could open his mouth, Torque growled, “What? We can’t allow her to be sold into slavery! The slave markets are supposed to be banned.”

Why the hell do I sound like I’m making excuses?

“Oh, I’m sure we can’t. But whatever we’re going to do, we’d best do it. She’s not getting the crowd to settle down is she, with talk like that? What kind of day she’s had? Shit that’s funny.” He jerked his chin at the rowdy crowds. “She’s a young one, one of those full of snappy come-backs with enough power to back it up, but even she might need some help in a place like this.”

Torque whipped his head around to see her bending gracefully at the waist to dodge a blow by one of the hulking giants. She moved like a dancer, hell, why not, she was dressed like a ballerina. A quick snap of her fist to the slaver’s jaw made her shake her hand and wince, but he noted there’d been power behind her punch. She struck again and this time the guy’s head jerked to the side.

Why wasn’t she using that power she had stored up? Or the sword?

Half-giants weren’t the quickest of the bunch, but they were the most stubborn. This one turned back to her, its meaty hands clenched into fists at its sides.

“You shouldna had dun tha’, you shouldna had.”

Her eyes widened and he got the sense she found the giant’s slow, mumbling speech hilarious. A second later, she knocked the guy in the head with her sword hilt and tangled his massive feet up with a strike to his shins with her bare foot. She jumped back grinning when he fell with a loud thump.

“Seriously? How about that? Should I had done tha’?”

Her imitation of the giant was amusing, but still she could get herself killed, or worse. Half the crowds roared in laughter while the other half—most likely, the ones that had come for a slave—sized her up for their next meal.

The giant managed to get halfway up to his knees but she booted his ass with her foot and rapped two new players in the head successively with the flat of her blade without even pausing.

When he moved closer, he spotted blood on her side and another bright patch of red on her forehead as her hair spun away from her face in her turn. Had someone attacked her and brought her here?

“Yep, young witch. Not using much of her skills though,” Jaxon observed. “But she’s got a good right hook, huh? And her sword skill is pretty hot too even if she’s holding back.”

Torque levelled a glare at Jaxon. “Come on.” He didn’t bother waiting on a reply, but turned and shoved his way through the thong now circling her. Maybe she’d hurt herself? Maybe someone had attacked her? She sounded fine, but his unease grew by the second. He never came to the rescue. Witches had to handle themselves. Coddling them would get them killed. He knew that. He never came to the rescue.

I’m talking to myself. Shit, what is wrong with me?

He elbowed a big, broad-shouldered guy out of his way and deflected a punch, threw one himself that connected with a crunching sound and spotted her again. Not one ounce of him was going to let her handle this by herself. He didn’t analyse that assertion any further. Instead, he bulldozed through the melee.

“Halt. Stop at once. Slaving is forbidden by order of the High Council. You know—”

A big meaty fist whooshed over his head, narrowly missing him. At the same time, the blonde witch twisted a look over her shoulder at him in surprise. The slaver stood up from behind her and suddenly she lost her footing and toppled in slow motion off the table.