Willing Sacrifice (15 page)

Grace found a downed tree and perched on the trunk. Blood seeped from the deep scratches along the inside of her thighs. It wasn’t enough to be serious, but as her adrenaline faded, the pain increased fast.

Torr had left his pack behind somewhere. Grace was still toting hers on her back, proof that in the event of a fight she really didn’t know what she was doing. If she’d dropped the pack, maybe she could have run faster.

He pulled the bag’s strap over her head. The leather left a damp mark between her breasts where her sweat had soaked her tunic. The swirl of cool air felt good, easing a bit more of her body’s stress.

He ripped a piece of fabric from the bottom of his makeshift shirt and wet it with clean water. She held her hand out for the cloth, but he ignored that and started wiping the sticky blood away to assess the damage.

“I can do that,” she told him.

“So can I.” He pressed gently against her knees to get her to widen her thighs.

Grace felt the blush sweep over her cheeks. “I really don’t think you should be—”

“Hush. I’ve already seen you naked. Besides, if I was going to take you, it certainly wouldn’t be while your thighs are raw and battered.” His gaze caught hers and held on tight. “I want only pleasure for you, Grace. Never pain.”

The sheer power of the hunger in his eyes nearly did her in. She’d never seen blatant want like that before.

But she had felt it. Was starting to feel it again now.

Her mouth went dry.

He went about cleaning her wounds, his hands far more steady than hers.

“I wish I had the power to heal you,” he said. “You’ve suffered too much.”

“They’re just scratches. Nothing to worry about.”

“Anything that causes you pain worries me. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

One big hand settled on her knee. She could feel the heat of each of his fingertips, feel the rough line of flesh along his palm where his sword had left its mark. Each swipe of the cloth was gentle, but even so, he winced more than she did.

Grace couldn’t take her eyes off his hands. The stark contrast of his skin against hers was oddly thrilling. His careful strength made something deep inside her loosen up. The fear from her ordeal drained away, leaving her relaxed and floaty.

He soaped up a clean section of cloth. Apology was clear in his tone. “This is going to sting.”

She hardly felt a thing. As long as she kept her focus on the man, the pain of what he was doing was distant and completely drowned out by the shimmering pleasure his touch gave her.

Cool, clean water trickled over her skin as he rinsed the soap away. He looked up from where he knelt between her thighs. “You okay?” he asked.

A fluttering feeling spread out from her stomach. She nodded, not trusting her voice to remain steady.

His fingers settled on her cheek. “You’re flushed. There’s not some kind of poison in that tree bark, is there?”

She shook her head.

“Would you even tell me if there was? Or would you be more worried about us completing our mission?”

A little spurt of anger burned off some of the dreamy haze he’d given her. “I’m fine. We should go back and get those crystals.”

“Did you see them?”

“Inside the black stones. Those pulsing lights? I’m sure those are the crystals we’re after.”

Torr went back to where the Mason had fallen. He picked up its heavy hammer. “Guess we’re going to need this, then.”

The tool was huge. The handle was made from some kind of pale pink wood she’d never seen before. The metal head gleamed bright, its intricate carvings flickering with reflected sunlight. There wasn’t a scratch or nick anywhere, making her wonder just how hard the metal was. Each of the carvings was perfectly formed, reminding her of the runes carved into the Sentinel Stone in the village. As she watched, a faint blue strand of light snaked across the surface, connecting the runes with tiny shards of lightning.

The muscles in Torr’s forearm bulged as he balanced the hammer on his shoulder. The sight shouldn’t have done anything to Grace, but she was a mess right now. Weak. She couldn’t stop the little spike of desire that sliced through her.

“Do you want to stay here and wait for me?” he asked.

Grace stood and tested the thin layer of cloth bandages he’d tied around her thighs. The fabric held as she walked toward the crater. “What do you think?”

I
t had taken every bit of self-control Torr could summon to bandage Grace’s wounds. All he’d wanted to do was press her thighs open wide and kiss her all better—kiss her until the last thing on her mind was pain.

Thanks to her dip in the frozen stream and the need to get her warm, he had now solved the mystery of what she wore under that tunic—a thin strip of cloth that wove around her waist and over her sex, covering less than it revealed. One single tug and the whole thing would have unraveled, exposing her to his fingers and his mouth.

For a second, he had been convinced that she would have let him pleasure her. But then he’d questioned her honesty, and all that languid, womanly heat had evaporated from her expression. Her thighs had clamped shut, and he knew he’d lost his chance at heaven.

It was for the best. He tried to remind himself of that. They were exposed out here. She was wounded. They had a job to do, and every hour they took doing it was one more hour that the women Brenya protected would be in danger.

Taking a break to explore Grace’s body would be as selfish as it was foolish. Still, a man could dream.

By the time they reached the rim of the black crater, he’d gotten his libido under control and his head back in the game.

Grace was about to break the plane of the summit when he stopped her. “What are you doing?”

“Going to get the crystals.”

“We don’t know if enemy reinforcements have arrived. We need to be careful.”

She nodded and eased to the ground. She might have been wearing a brave face, but he could tell that her wounds were painful by the way she moved.

As soon as they got back to the village, he was going to demand that Brenya heal her. He didn’t know if she operated like the Sanguinar, taking payment in blood for their services, but whatever she required of him, he would pay the price. He couldn’t stand letting Grace hurt when there was something he could do to make it stop.

He scanned the area below, watching long enough to satisfy himself that no more enemies had arrived and that the Mason in the crater hadn’t yet had time to rebuild itself.

He whispered to Grace, “I’ll run down there and bust out some of those crystals. You stay here and keep watch.”

“You just want me out of the way.”

“That assumes you were ever in the way, and I can assure you that’s not true. I couldn’t have found this place without you.” And while that was true, he wished like hell there had been any other way.

“Fine. I’ll keep watch over you. What do you want me to do if I see trouble?”

“Yell a warning and then take off toward the cave we were in last night. I’ll meet you there.”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “You don’t catch on very fast, do you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just go do what you need to do. I’ll do the same.”

The longer they stayed here talking, the more likely it was they would be found. Before that could happen, Torr picked up his pack from where he’d left it and ran down the slope. He found the glossy boulder that seemed to have the easiest crystals to extract, picked up one of the Mason’s chisels, and went to work with his hammer.

Cold permeated this whole area, sucking the heat from his skin. He was slamming the hammer down hard, working as fast as he could, but not a single drop of sweat had survived the chill.

The closer he got to the crystals, the more aware he became that the light they gave off had a strange effect on him. It made him feel heavy, almost sluggish. He did the best he could to keep his eyes averted, but when he was only a few inches away from the target, that became nearly impossible.

Finally, he closed his eyes, checking every few blows to make sure he was still on track.

The hammer and chisel broke through the final layer of black rock. In the center was a cluster of pulsing crystals each about the size of one of Grace’s slender fingers. They sat in a hollow core, attached by a thin filament of whatever this transparent black rock was.

Torr took out the heavy box that Brenya had sent with them to house the crystals, opened it and set it on the ground. He didn’t dare touch the black stone, afraid his fingers would freeze and snap off. Instead, he pulled off the tattered remains of his shirt and folded it until it was several layers thick. A quick twist of his wrist and the thin finger of glasslike rock snapped, freeing the mass of crystals.

He dropped them into the box, closed the lid and bound the thing shut with his shirt so he could carry it safely. The last thing he wanted was to have the box open and get his ass blown off by a pile of rocks.

As he turned to leave, his instincts warned him of danger.

He could see the top of Grace’s head along the ridgeline. As he stared, she moved enough that he could tell she was fine. A quick scan of the area revealed no enemies in plain sight.

Still, something was definitely wrong.

Grace stood and pointed, making herself an easy target.

Torr drew his sword and turned to face the threat.

Nothing.

He kept scanning the area, searching for what she’d seen.

The wind quieted, and he heard a scratching sound. It was close. Right in front of him.

He took a step back and watched as the sandy remains of the Mason he’d smashed re-formed. As each grain of sand took its place, the surface of the creature hardened into a smooth mass.

It was rebuilding itself, as Brenya had said it would, but he’d never imagined it would be so fast.

If the one at his feet could do that, then so could the one in the forest—the one that was only a few yards away from Grace.

Torr slammed the hammer down on the Mason, crushing its progress. More sand crumbled away, but it was obvious that the destruction was only temporary.

He scooped up as much of the sand as he could carry and sprinted toward Grace. Maybe if he got a piece of the thing far enough away, it would stop the healing process. It was the only thing he could think of without more time.

And with Grace up there, no way was he slowing down to ponder the situation.

He hit the tree line running and flung the sand out as far as he could. His fingers were numb from the cold work he’d done, but he forced them to move enough to grab Grace’s hand.

“Run!” he yelled, pulling her into compliance.

“You killed it.”

“For now. There’s still the other one.” As he said the words, he saw a grayish shape lumbering through the trees up ahead.

He veered to the left, heading toward a stream he’d spotted earlier.

Their progress was slow. Grace was trying hard to keep up, but there was only so much she could do.

He fell behind her, urging her to keep going as fast as she could. Her bandages kept snagging on low branches until they were loose enough that they fell around her feet. They tripped her up twice. Finally she stopped long enough to strip them away, then picked up speed again.

By that time, the Mason was right behind them, crashing along in their wake.

“Left!” Torr shouted, hoping she would understand what he meant.

Without hesitating, she banked sharply to her left, heading down a steep slope. She fell and slid halfway down, but regained her feet just in time to splash across the shallow stream.

Torr drew his sword and turned to face the Mason. This was where he would make his stand.

“Keep going,” he ordered.

He didn’t know if she obeyed, but he no longer had time to find out.

The Mason charged, but Torr was ready. He dodged the first heavy blow that came at him. The Mason had no hammer, but its fist flew past his head so fast that the wind ruffled his hair. He stepped to the side and swung his sword in a complete arc that sliced right through the Mason’s thick wrist.

It roared as its hand fell in a sandy pile on the bank of the stream.

Torr’s rush of victory lasted less than a second. The Mason’s foot slammed into his knee, bending it sideways.

Pain attacked his brain, blinding him for a moment. His body instinctively went on defense, protecting his vital organs while he regained his vision.

As soon as he did, he saw Grace with a thick stick in her hands, closing in.

Like fucking hell.

Torr let his body take over, giving his rage just enough rein to strengthen him. He wasn’t as mobile with only one functional leg, but that wasn’t going to stop him from killing the thing before it could lay so much as a single grain of sand on Grace.

Each swing of his sword cut away another crumbling section of sand. Defending himself was no longer a priority. It made him reckless but deadly.

Grace drew the stick back like a baseball player at bat.

The Mason saw her and swung its uninjured arm right toward her head.

Torr launched himself at the creature, ignoring the wrenching pain in his knee. His sword struck first, cutting a hole through its chest. His fist tore through the hole, forcing it open enough that the rest of his body could fit through.

The Mason’s scream died as it disintegrated into a waterfall of sand over Torr’s body.

He landed hard, unable to control his fall with a busted knee. Sand clogged his eyes and filled his mouth. He spat it free and shook his head to rid himself of the rest.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Frigid rage made his body lock up. Regardless of what he did or said, Grace was determined to put herself in harm’s way. Now that he was injured, she was going to be even more likely to believe he couldn’t take care of himself.

He couldn’t speak right then—at least not about her actions. If he did, if the anger pounding through him broke free, he knew he’d scare her off forever.

“Dump as much sand as you can in the stream. Spread it out.”

“Your knee—”

“Will heal,” he snapped.
“Move the fucking sand!”

She ducked her head and hunched her shoulders, looking like a scolded puppy.

Instantly, Torr felt like a dick. No matter what she did, she didn’t deserve to hurt. Her whole life had been about suffering, and he wasn’t about to be the asshole who added to that burden.

It took a good five minutes of deep breathing before he trusted himself to speak. She was scraping a pile of sand together with her hands when he found the guts to open his mouth. “I’m sorry, Grace. Again. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. But you’re in pain.”

“That’s no excuse. Pain doesn’t excuse bad behavior.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “Most people would say it did.”

“They’d be mistaken.”

She took a tentative step closer. “How bad is it?”

Something was definitely torn, though he couldn’t tell what. His jeans were growing tight over the swelling, and he would bet his sword that the whole knee was already turning black and blue.

He’d managed to straighten his leg so it would heal right, but that was going to take more than just a few minutes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you
will
be, but how is the knee now?”

“It’s uncomfortable,” he admitted. “But at least I can feel it. That’s a blessing.”

She frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I was paralyzed once. Couldn’t feel anything below my neck. I was completely helpless.
That
hurt. This is just pain.”

Compassion welled up from her, as natural as breathing. She knelt at his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “What happened? How were you paralyzed?”

“I was attacked by a demon. Poisoned. It destroyed my spinal column.”

“But you heal so fast.”

“Not from that. No one could help. At least that’s what I thought.”

“But you’re better now, so you must have found some kind of cure.”

She was so beautiful—his eyes burned because he refused to blink and miss even a second of looking at her. This was his Grace, the woman he loved. That he would have yelled at her made shame seep into his soul.

“A woman saved me,” he told her. He ached to say that she was his savior, but his vow forced his silence.

“You loved her,” she whispered, the words part awe, part sadness. “I can see it in your eyes.”

He nodded. “Very much. She nearly died saving me. She’s the reason it makes me crazy every time you risk your life. I can’t lose . . . another woman.”

“Where is she now?”

He touched her cheek. Her smooth skin was a warm temptation. “She’s moved on. Lived her life.”

“Without you,” she guessed.

“Exactly.”

“Brenya shouldn’t have brought you here. She should have let you stay to fight for her.”

“If it weren’t for Brenya, she’d be dead. For that, I owe the woman everything.”

“But she brought you here, tore you away from the one you love.”

Torr ached to say that the woman he loved was right here, close enough to touch. Or at the very least, tell her that Brenya had saved his love’s life but taken her memories. Surely that would have been enough for Grace to figure out that she was the one he loved.

It was too close to the truth for him to say the words aloud. Even thinking about doing so made his throat clamp shut.

He swallowed to ease the tightness. “We should figure out our next move. I don’t want to send you back to the village alone, but I’m in no shape to protect you, and it’s only a matter of time before the Masons rebuild themselves again.”

“I’m not leaving you here, not when you’re too injured to fight. How long do you think it will take for you to be able to walk?”

“It’s hard to tell for sure, but at least a few hours. Could be tomorrow before I can hike over rough ground.”

Grace surveyed the area. He could see her mind spinning as she assessed their options. Torr waited for her to reach the same conclusion he had—that she needed to go on without him.

“I’ll mix up something to help ease the swelling. It will make you sleepy, but when you wake up, we’ll make some kind of splint and get you mobile.”

“You’re not serious. You can’t stay out here when I’m not even able to protect you. The moving water may or may not slow down the Mason’s healing process, but even if it does, the other one is still out there. It will heal and when it does, it could decide to come after us.”