Rebel: The Blades of the Rose (34 page)

It grabbed the totem. And continued its dive. Nathan urged himself nearer. Talons free now, he tore at the falcon, felt the satisfying rip of feather and flesh.

Then it surged onward. Shook itself. And suddenly a wave of energy pulsed from it, pushing him back.

Engulfed in bright light, the falcon shrank, then expanded. Nathan dove forward and was thrashed back by the beat of enormous wings. He spun away. Stunned, he hovered for a moment, trying to gain his balance. Then mentally swore at what he saw.

The falcon was no longer an ordinary animal. Now it was a creature of legend, grown to the size of a carriage, wings broad as sails. Clutched in one of its massive talons, the totem looked no bigger than an infant's rattle. That alone sent a bolt of cold fury through Nathan. But true rage, blinding in its intensity, slammed into him when he saw that the falcon headed straight down. Right toward Astrid.

 

Words sputtered and died in Astrid's mouth. It could not be. Yet it was. Before her eyes, the Heirs' falcon abruptly grew. To monstrous size.

“Good Christ,” Catullus swore. Aptly put. But it seemed that the will of heaven had nothing to do with what they faced now.

She'd battled giant creatures before, but never witnessed an ordinary animal transform into an enormous beast.

“Bracebridge's work, surely,” Astrid mused, grim. And now it clasped the totem in one massive talon.

Nathan looked so small beside the falcon, and when the huge bird's wings knocked him away like a gnat, anger and fear gelled within her.

She raised up her rifle. She had a bigger target now. “Get closer, you parakeet,” she snarled. “I'll blast you to pulp.”

“I believe the parakeet heard that,” Catullus said, voice flinty. “It's headed straight for us.”

The falcon indeed sped down. Racing directly toward where she and Catullus stood. And the closer it got, the more Astrid realized how bloody
big
that bird was. Its beak could slice her in two. She suddenly felt like a defenseless rabbit in a field, seeing the huge shadow over her.

Like hell would she flee. She braced herself and took aim. In the corner of her eye, she saw Catullus do the same. They both inhaled, steadying themselves. Then fired.

The falcon swerved, avoiding Catullus's shot. But Astrid's bullet clipped the tip of one wing. It squawked as giant feathers scattered, large as fronds.

“I think we made it cross,” muttered Astrid.

They reloaded, fired again, yet the creature dodged the bullets.

“Astrid,” Catullus warned. “It's heading for
you.
”

She glanced up. And saw he was right. The falcon was diving straight toward her. Wings outstretched, eyes glittering with avarice, talons glinting like swords. A vision from the depths of hell.

She fumbled to reload with fingers that felt far too stiff.

Catullus bellowed, “No time—run!”

There wasn't a choice. The shadow overhead grew. The falcon was almost on her.

Astrid ran, heading for the cover of the trees. She heard Catullus shouting behind her, the blast of his shotgun, and Nathan's hawk screams of rage.

Almost to the trees. The pines grew too close together for the falcon to follow. She sprinted, nearly at the boundary of the protecting woods. Then felt herself wrenched backward. Hot pain shot through her shoulders and back. Her arms were pinned at her sides.

She lifted up, the ground disappearing beneath her feet. Her rifle fell and became a tiny toy as it hit the ground below her. The falcon gave a triumphant shriek, piercing and loud.

The damned winged beast had her.

 

Thought fled. He flew forward, propelled by rage and horror.
No.
Astrid struggled, writhing and twisting, to free herself or at least reach the knife in her boot or her pistol.

But the falcon held her tight and nothing she did could set her loose. Didn't stop her from trying, though. He would have admired her spirit but was too choked with fury to do anything but reach her.

Nathan pursued. He no longer felt the pain of his wounds. There was only forward. Yet it didn't matter how hard he pushed himself, the falcon's wings were bigger, its speed faster.

He would reach her.
Had
to.

Another surge of strength rolled through him and he managed to draw close enough so that he flew beside her. His vision clouded when he saw the blood on her back where the falcon's talons clutched her.

He shot forward, intending to slash at the huge talons, then pulled back. A glance down revealed they were hundreds of feet in the air. If the bird dropped Astrid from this height, she'd never survive the fall.
Goddamn it.

Astrid saw him, and alarm flared in her eyes. She snarled her frustration at her capture, hair whipping around her face.

“In my pockets,” she shouted above the wind and deafening flap of the falcon's wings. “I put the totems there when you shifted into a hawk. Take them.”

He didn't care about the damned totems. He wanted her.

At his hesitation, she growled, “Do it. Quickly.”

Nathan flew closer, then plucked from her pockets the wolf and bear totems. He clutched them in his talons. And continued to fly alongside, keeping pace with the falcon. The giant bird paid him no heed as it soared over the forest. It had its prize, and Nathan was less valuable. But Nathan would fight the beast for Astrid.

“You have to change form,” Astrid yelled.

Like hell,
his gaze told her. The falcon had to land at some point, and when it did, he'd be there, ready. His best chance to follow was in hawk form.

She saw his refusal and clenched her teeth in frustration. “With the totem, they can control you as a hawk,” she shouted. “Be anything. Wolf. Bear. Man. But not a hawk.”

With a foul mental oath, Nathan realized she was right. With the hawk totem in the possession of the Heirs' familiar, he would have no free will in his hawk form. The Heirs could make him do anything. Including hurt Astrid.

It infuriated him that he couldn't speak. So he let his eyes say what he could not, holding Astrid's gaze.
I'm coming for you. I will not stop until you're safe.

“I know,” she said, quieting, her silver eyes warm. She held his gaze and tried to memorize him, as though—and this he couldn't allow—saying good-bye. “I love you.”

He hated his animal forms. They took words from him, the multitude of things he had to tell her. That she was the breath in his lungs and the gleam of his soul. That he loved her beyond reason, beyond self. And would do so until the fabric of the world dissolved.

He
would
say these things. He refused to believe this was the last they would see of each other.

But he couldn't even
touch
her, damn it.

“Go now,” she mouthed.

Heart torn into shreds, Nathan wheeled away. A rending within as the distance between him and Astrid grew.

He felt the hawk totem reaching out to him, snaking tendrils of control, trying to rob him of his will. Just before he became engulfed in its demands, he landed and shifted into his wolf form, already running. In his mouth, he held the leather thongs attached to wolf and bear totems. Dimly, he saw his body covered with cuts, oozing bright blood and staining his fur, but the wounds belonged to someone else.

He could still see her, above him, and he hurtled in pursuit. Eyes to the sky, he watched with helpless fury as the falcon and Astrid shrank with distance, no matter how fast he ran.

Sensing him, the falcon turned its head and let out a piercing shriek. The sound reverberated, a noise so shrill and high it stabbed through his sensitive wolf's hearing. He felt himself stumble, then realized it wasn't him that shuddered, but the ground beneath him.

The shriek did not stop, and, as it continued, fissures spread through the earth under Nathan. It quaked and rumbled, then split apart into gaping crags. Trees, dirt, and rocks tumbled down. Roaring, a fissure cracked open beneath his feet and began to widen.

He leapt, trying to keep on solid ground. But the fracture widened and he found himself tumbling down in a hail of debris. He scrabbled for a hold, shifting in mid-fall into a man. Yet every rock or outcropping he grabbed crumbled beneath his hands. He fell, the earth swallowing him, the last of the falcon's shriek ringing in his ears.

Astrid
—

A hard slam as he hit bottom, then darkness.

 

The falcon's scream nearly cleft her head in two, but she tried to shake off its effects. She couldn't break free of the falcon. Fighting now would only use up her strength. She had to wait. It would land sooner or later, and when it did, she would be ready.

The earth below her sped past, a panorama of trees, valleys, mountains. Sky all around, vast as eternity.

A god's view. Beautiful, or it would have been, if she wasn't being abducted. As it was, anger and fear turned the sight rancid. Not minutes before, she had wished to be in the sky, to share with Nathan the wonder of flight. Now she hadn't that wish, but a travesty of it.

At least Nathan had heeded her directive, changing out of his hawk form. He would be safe from the totem's sway.

Would she see him again? She squeezed her eyes shut, allowing herself the barest moment of weakness. This capture might almost be easier to bear if she had nothing and no one. But he'd come crashing into her life, bringing energy and motion and love, and now to lose all this, to lose him was a deeper wound than she could bear.

No, she thought fiercely. Whatever awaited her when the falcon landed—and she had a good idea it wasn't going to be pleasant—she would fight and stand, until there wasn't breath or blood left in her.

As the falcon flew, Astrid kept a careful eye on her surroundings, noting direction. If she did manage to get free, she'd have to find a way back to Nathan. She didn't know this part of the Territory, but she was an able mountain woman.

The falcon banked, heading toward a forest clearing that held an encampment. Astrid tensed. People gathered there, pointing, their faces turned up to the sky. Waiting for her.

 

He was a boy again. He stood in Mr. Engleby's study, and the headmaster was angry. Once more, he'd been caught trying to run away, and, once more, Mr. Engleby railed at him, calling him an ungrateful heathen brat. Didn't Nathan know that most Indian children had to live in misery and godlessness? Nathan should be thankful to be the recipient of such generous condescension, to be brought up in the proper English way. If Nathan was truly lucky, he might one day become a carpenter or blacksmith or even, God willing, a teacher.

As Nathan listened to this blistering lecture, aware that it would be followed by a beating from Mr. Engleby's cane, he felt he had to leave. He had to leave
now.
Time was running out. Didn't Mr. Engleby know? Every second Nathan spent in his office meant that it was getting away, that she would be gone. He had to reach her.

“Now, this will never do, Lesperance!” snapped the headmaster. “I did not give you permission to turn into a wolf!”

Nathan glanced down and saw not his boy's feet, but the paws of a wolf, standing upon the faded Turkish carpet.
Yes,
he thought.
It will help me run. To catch her.

“Such insolence,” hissed Mr. Engleby. “I will show you who is master here, Lesperance!”

Then Nathan felt the sting of the cane. Again and again, but it was more of an insistent pelting than the usual bite that left red welts. Mr. Engleby kept hitting him, kept saying, “Lesperance! Wake up! Lesperance!”

He had to leave. Had to go. And he wouldn't stand another second of the headmaster's punishment.

He growled, swatting away the annoying sting.

The sensation abruptly stopped. “Thank God,” someone said above him. “You're alive.”

He was no longer in Mr. Engleby's study. Rocks and sticks poked into his back, and a coating of dust filmed his mouth. Everything felt stiff and sore. He cracked open his eyes from beneath lids that felt mortared shut, and winced at the crescent of light above him. Someone's head peered over the edge, but the person had two reflective circles instead of eyes.

“Lesperance!” the man called. “Can you hear me? Are you injured?”

Nathan struggled to sit up, every part of him protesting the movement. His head spun for a moment before the ground beneath him righted. Looking around, he found himself at the bottom of a deep ravine, surrounded by fallen tree trunks and rocks. He struggled for several seconds to remember just where the hell he was, still drifting between dream and waking. He fumbled beside him and felt the barest relief when his hand closed over both the wolf and bear totems. At least something was safe.

“I lost the falcon,” the man shouted down. “There was no way to keep up.”

Damn it. Astrid.

Nathan surged to his feet, ignoring dizziness and blinding pain. His body was a network of bruises and cuts in different stages of healing, some more fresh than others. Something wet trickled down his side and, when he touched it, his hand came away red. He wiped it on his thigh, leaving a smear of blood.

“Easy,” Graves called. “You took a bad fall. Actually—you look like hell.”

Nathan glanced around, assessing the situation. The chasm was thirty feet deep, fifteen feet wide. The walls rose up steeply. The lower part of the walls was composed of huge, smooth slabs of granite, while farther up, smaller rocks jutted out. If he could trust taking his hawk form, flying out would be simple, but the hawk totem belonged to the Heirs, and so flight wasn't a choice.

Astrid. Every second he was here, the farther away she got. The Heirs might have her already.

He almost sank to his knees, slammed with rage and panic.

“Can you climb out?” Graves asked.

Shoving aside his fear for Astrid, Nathan strode to the wall and made a few jumps, trying to reach the part of the wall that had more hand-and footholds. But they were too high up, and every time he landed, excruciating pain shot through him.