Willing Sacrifice (7 page)

“It’s called a lifemark.”

“Why that name?”

“Partly because I was born with it, though it used to look a lot different. It’s grown as I’ve aged.”

“It changed by itself?”

“Yes.” The way he said it made it sound like he didn’t want to explain.

His hesitance only made her more curious. “What’s it for?”

“A reminder.”

“Of?”

“The passage of time. How precious every day is. My duty to use each one of those days to fulfill my vows.”

“What vows?”

“You certainly are full of questions.”

“It’s going to take us a while to get back to where I saw the trail. We have to pass the time somehow.”

“Not a fan of silence?” he asked.

“It has its place. So do questions. What vows do your lifemark remind you to fulfill?”

“To protect humans and guard the Gate to Athanasia.”

“That’s where Brenya came from. And the women who come here to have their children.”

She pushed past a low branch, holding it aside for him to pass. His big hand brushed hers as he took over the job, and she could have sworn she could feel that single accidental touch all the way up her arm.

“Why do they come here to have their children?” he asked.

“They’re special babies—ones who would be killed if the women were to have them at home.”

“How are they special?” he asked.

“I don’t know for sure. I hear things, but Brenya isn’t exactly the type of person who explains her actions. All I know is that these women are trying to help fight a war the only way they can. Time goes faster here than on Athanasia, so they’re only gone for a few days—a short enough time that the Solarc won’t discover them missing.”

“Brenya will explain it to me,” he said, determination hardening his tone.

Grace stifled a chuckle. “I don’t know what makes you think that, but good luck getting her to talk.”

“She doesn’t get to make unilateral decisions like that. There are lives at stake, both Sentinels and humans.”

It was obvious that Torr didn’t know Brenya at all, but some people had to learn everything the hard way. “I’ve never met another human. At least not that I can remember. Are they all as weak as me?”

He took a long step and came up beside her, lifting low-hanging branches out of her way. “What makes you think you’re weak?”

“Everything. Even the children here can outrun me, are stronger than me, and can go longer without food or rest. At first I thought it was because I’d been so sick, but Brenya said that’s just the way I’m made.” It had taken her a long time to get over the sting caused by that unintentional insult. “I’m not allowed to patrol at night. No one wants to spar with me. They’re all kind about it, but I know they all think I’m a weakling and that they’ll hurt me.”

“Humans aren’t weak,” he said. “Neither are you.”

“I have proof to the contrary. And based on your response, I’m guessing that we are weak and you’re just being nice, too.”

“There are different kinds of strength. You have an adaptable nature that makes you nearly invincible. Your capacity for compassion is its own kind of magic. And you have a quiet force of will that rivals any I’ve ever seen.”

“You say that like you know me.”

He looked away and fell back in line behind her. “I know humans. And Brenya wouldn’t have brought you here and saved your life if you weren’t an exceptional one.”

Something about that didn’t seem right, but they were nearly at the clearing where she’d spotted the Hunters.

She slowed and lifted her finger to her lips to indicate the need to be quiet. They crept along, skirting the edge of the clearing where herbs grew, until she saw a mark in the dirt.

Grace leaned toward him, going up on tiptoe to get as close to his ear as she could. “A Hunter left this mark.” She pointed to the print in the loose soil. The imprint was deep and jagged, showing where the bottom of the creature’s foot had sharp protrusions.

A line led through the brush as if it had been cut by a sharp blade. Leaves and branches were severed cleanly, and as she leaned to change her line of sight, she could see exactly the way they’d gone.

“They went that way,” she said, pointing.

Torr nodded. He drew a sword that had been invisible only seconds ago. The sudden appearance of the weapon surprised her, forcing her back a few steps.

He noticed her distress and lowered the blade away from her. Orange sky was reflected in the polished surface and winked off of an intricate netting of silver vines that formed the hilt and crossguard.

His knuckles bulged with his tight grip. His skin shifted over bone and muscles along his forearms. The need to feel that masculine power flow through his limbs—to touch it with her fingertips—was almost unbearable.

Grace wasn’t like the other girls in the village who chattered and cooed over wanting to stroke him. She had better things to think about than that. Sadly, she couldn’t remember a single one of them right now. Instead, all she could focus on was the subtle warming of her skin and the way her clothes suddenly felt too tight for her to breathe.

“I’ll take you to the village, then come back and follow the trail,” he whispered close to her ear—close enough that she could feel the warmth of his words as they passed.

She stifled a shiver. “No. It will take too much time.”

“You can’t go back alone. It’s not safe.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to stay with you.”

He scowled at that and opened his mouth to argue with her, but a soft rustling came from the south.

Before she could even register that there was danger, Torr shifted his body so that he was between her and the sound. With his free hand, he held her behind him, silently ordering her to stay put.

The rustling grew louder, closer. Grace’s heart started pounding hard enough that she was sure it would bruise her ribs.

These Hunters hadn’t seen her before. She’d stayed silent and they’d slipped by, parting the low brush as they passed. All she’d seen was a jagged series of shiny black ridges peeking over the foliage, glittering with filtered sunlight.

Even though she hadn’t seen much, she’d
felt
them, as if they left a cold fog in their wake. She’d been chilled to the bone, even after running back to the village. Her instincts had screamed at her the whole way, demanding that she go faster.

Do not look back.

The words had sounded in her head as clearly as if someone had been running beside her. It could have been Brenya, who often summoned her with a voice like that, but it sounded different. Almost afraid. And Brenya was never afraid.

Torr stepped away, his footfall silent on the leaf litter. As thick as the brush was here, he could disappear within only a few steps.

The idea of being out here alone again with those things was too terrifying to even consider.

She shifted her weight to follow Torr, and before she could take so much as a step, his head turned and he gave her a hard amber stare.

Stay.
He mouthed the single word, and she froze in place, a strand of fear strumming inside her—one that had nothing to do with the Hunters in the woods. This was deeper, a part of her former self that she didn’t understand.

Something had happened to her that had terrified her, and there were times when a single word or movement from someone else would set her off, making her want to cower under the covers like a child. Maybe that something was what had nearly killed her. No one seemed to know, or if they did, they weren’t telling her.

So she was left to deal with her inconvenient moments of fright, never able to predict when another might strike.

Torr slipped silently out of sight through the brush. Grace crouched to hide and make herself as small a target as possible. The action felt natural, as if she were used to cowering.

That idea grated on her pride. She was the weakest person here, not including the infants and toddlers, but that didn’t mean she was weak-willed. She would be as strong as she needed to be. As brave as she needed to be. Whoever she’d been in her old life, she was no longer that person. She had been remade.

She pulled the dagger from her belt. It was little more than a tool, meant for digging up roots and slicing off bark. But the blade was sharp, and her grip was firm.

Seconds passed in painful silence, each one measured in frantic beats of her heart. The rustling sounded again, only this time farther away.

She turned to face it and nearly stabbed Torr in his stomach.

He grabbed her hand, lifting the dagger out of the way before it could make contact. The move pulled her hard against his front, forcing her to catch herself. Her left hand splayed over hot male flesh. She felt muscles along his chest shift against her palm as his arm came around her to steady her.

She was plastered against him from knees to breasts, which made her heart pound even faster.

“It was just an animal,” he whispered.

Fear trickled out of her but was instantly replaced by something else—something hot and laced with excitement. It was as though her skin had suddenly come to life, allowing her to feel things she’d never noticed before.

The breeze swept past her, lifting fine hairs away from her nape. Each of his fingers at her back flexed slightly, as if he were trying to resist stroking her. The leather of her tunic was clinging softly to her thighs. Her legs were bare beneath the hem, and the worn softness of his pants made her want to rub against him. Or maybe it was the man beneath that created such an odd urge.

His head angled down and he stared at her mouth. She licked her lips, just in case there was some stray bit of food lingering there. She couldn’t stand the thought of embarrassing herself like that in front of this man.

The bright amber of his eyes darkened until only a slender rim of color remained. For some reason, seeing that change in his gaze excited her until her insides were squirming with the desire to get closer.

Not that there was much closer to get. Not with their clothes on.

Her fingers clenched involuntarily against his bare chest. She could have sworn she could feel his pulse speed up and a wave of heat spill out of his skin.

Slowly, his fingers relaxed on hers, allowing her to pull her weapon hand from his grip. “I’m sorry. I could have hurt you.”

He swallowed twice. “Not with that toy. If you want to fight, you need a real weapon.”

“I’m not allowed to fight. Brenya says I’m too fragile.”

“You are fragile, which is why you need to know how to protect yourself.”

“No one will teach me.”

“I will.”

His easy agreement made her suspicious. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know how long I’ll be around to keep you safe. I want to make sure you know how to do the job yourself.”

“That’s what I keep telling the women—I should be able to protect myself.”

“What do they say to that?”

“I should just stay in the village where I can’t get hurt.”

“I’d scoff at them for that, but I remember telling a young woman much like you much the same thing—to stay inside the walls of Dabyr where she’d be safe.”

“And was she?”

“No. She almost died inside those walls.” Torr released her and turned his back.

A thick wave of cold slunk along the ground, gripping her ankles. Before she could so much as gasp, that cold swelled up from the ground, enveloping her.

There was no question what it was. The Hunters were here.

G
race grabbed Torr’s arm as she darted past him, forcing him to run. He could practically feel the panic spilling out of her as she crashed through the brush.

He spared a quick look over his shoulder and saw what had made her take off.

Hunters.

Two glittering black creatures charged after them, their target clear. Their skin looked like it had been forged from volcanic glass, chipped to a razor edge. They were tall and narrow, with sinuous, fish-shaped bodies that easily slashed through dense terrain. They traveled on four legs, the top of their backs at about eye level on Torr—just over six feet. From the tremors shaking the ground as they ran, they probably outweighed him by a lot.

Grace was ahead of him, but nowhere near as fast as the things behind him.

He drew his sword, gripped it in both hands and powered the blade through a tree as they passed, knocking it down behind him. The Hunters weren’t even slowed down. They tore right through it like it was no more than a twig, cutting it cleanly into logs.

If Grace didn’t run faster, these things were going to be slicing through her in a matter of seconds.

Torr picked up speed, grabbing Grace around the waist as he went. Her feet barely touched the ground as they ran. He could hear her rapid breathing, feel her muscles straining to keep up, but she was human, and that came with a potentially deadly set of limitations.

He tried to scan ahead for some kind of cover—a defensible location where he could hold them off. But the trees and undergrowth were too thick for him to see more than a few feet in front of them.

The sounds of glass crunching grew louder. A quick glance over his shoulder proved that the Hunters were definitely gaining on them.

“Just a little . . . farther,” panted Grace. “To . . . the right.”

He had no idea what she meant, but he trusted her, so he angled right, taking even more of her weight as he pushed his legs to pick up speed.

The Hunters were nearly on their heels. The
thwack
of leaves and branches being severed was right behind them. A few more seconds, and it would be him and Grace being cut to shreds.

Up ahead he saw bright orange sunlight. The sky. The trees were thinning out.

At least if they were in a clearing he could see these things coming at him—one wouldn’t be able to sneak around and attack him from behind while the other distracted him. He’d shove Grace up into a nearby tree where she would be relatively safe while he took the Hunters down.

The poorly timed fear of what might happen to her if he failed rippled through him, but he let it pass, giving it no weight or value. With none of his brothers here to help him, and Grace’s life on the line, his focus had to be absolute.

“Stop! Cliff!” she shouted in warning, just as what lay ahead came into view.

It wasn’t a clearing that awaited them. It was a steep drop down farther than he could see. The gap was several hundred feet wide—far too wide to jump.

Torr tightened his grip on Grace’s arm and hauled her sharply to the left. They landed hard, and her cry of pain tore away his concentration for a split second.

He gathered his wits enough to regain his feet, rather than seeing what was wrong with her. Whatever it was, it would have to wait until he dealt with the most pressing threat charging toward them. He lurched upright as one of the Hunters closed in for the kill.

Torr lifted his sword just in time for the creature to slam into him.

His blade sheared off a small chunk of translucent black rock. The thing screamed in pain, its voice sounding like glass grinding against stone.

The force of the blow rocked Torr back, but he kept his feet planted, knowing that Grace was on the ground right behind him. If he stepped back, not only could he hurt her, but it would put the Hunter that much closer to her.

A bone-chilling cold seeped out from the thing, freezing the sweat on his brow.

The second Hunter streaked by, its body gleaming obsidian and orange. A moment later it disappeared into the thick foliage. There was no question in his mind. The Hunter was positioning itself to charge. And they had only a few seconds before it happened.

“Get up a tree,” ordered Torr. He didn’t know if she was able to obey, if she was even conscious.

His blade was locked against the front ridge of the Hunter’s head. Its jaws were too small to do more than snap at him, and its arms and legs were too short to reach him. The real threat was its partner, who could slide in silently at any moment, killing them before Torr even knew it was there.

The chill this creature put out grew deeper, numbing his toes. It had taken only a couple of seconds, making him wonder how much time he had before his fingers became numb, too. If he couldn’t hold his sword, they were both dead.

He turned his blade until the flat of it was pressing against a serrated ridge of black glass. With one hand on the hilt and the other on the frigid blade, he used all his strength to shove the Hunter back into a thick tree.

The thing’s feet slid over the leaves. It snarled and fought, but Torr was strengthened by the knowledge that he was the only thing standing between Grace and death.

The tree’s metallic bark split around the Hunter’s narrow body. Torr kept pushing, ignoring the tingling cold in his hands.

The trunk opened as the Hunter’s wedge-shaped body was forced back into it. A layer of frost crept over the bark, and the clear sap that had leaked out began to crystallize as it froze. Wood creaked as the ice spread through the tree.

“The other one’s back,” yelled Grace.

Her voice, even as frightened as it was, was as sweet as angels singing. She was alive, conscious and still with him.

Until that second, he hadn’t realized just how terrified he’d been that he’d lost her again. He’d kept that fear below the surface, where it couldn’t affect his ability to fight, but it was there, lurking, waiting for a chance to defeat him.

Torr flicked a glance toward the sound of her voice. She wasn’t in a tree. She was leaning heavily against one, holding her head. Blood trickled out from her hand, staining the knotted cords decorating her fingers. Her skin was as white as bleached bones.

She was staring wide-eyed at something in the distance.

The second Hunter.

Torr eased away from the one he was fighting, making sure his plan had worked. The Hunter didn’t follow him up. It was stuck inside the tree, embedded in frozen sap. Its feet scrabbled against the ground to find traction, but as soon as it had dug furrows in the soft earth, it could no longer even reach the ground.

It wasn’t dead, but it was disabled, and that was enough for Torr to move on to the next target.

That next target was sailing toward him, leaving bits of leaf litter and branches in its wake. Torr was in a bad position—too close to the jaws of the trapped Hunter. Even a few steps back would put him close enough to be killed.

The second Hunter must have seen that.

So did Grace.

She waved her arms and shouted to draw its attention. “I’m over here!”

She sprinted away from Torr, her gait unsteady and way too slow.

One of the Hunter’s eyes tracked her movement, but the other stayed fixed on Torr. The deep cold that suddenly embraced him had nothing to do with the chill the Hunters put off.

He scrambled to reposition himself—to make himself a more tempting target than Grace, but it did no good. His shouts and flailing arms were no match for a sweet, unarmed human woman.

Torr charged the Hunter.

The creature charged Grace. Torr had been in enough battles to know how this one would play out. The Hunter would slam into her, slicing her in half instantly. Torr was too far away to do more than watch. No matter how hard he pushed his legs, the distance between them seemed to stretch out, leaving an impossible length to cover in a couple of seconds.

In the blink of an eye, he remembered every achingly sweet moment they’d shared. He remembered the first moment his paralysis wore off and he was able to stand again. All he’d wanted to do was find Grace and share the good news with her, to sweep her up in his arms and hold her as he’d craved to do for so long. Since he’d met her, his whole world had revolved around her visits, her touches. And now, because he couldn’t run just a little bit faster, he was going to lose her.

He gathered as many tiny sparks of energy as he could and used them to speed his stride. The sting of that power coursed over his skin, but it didn’t matter. He still wasn’t going to be fast enough.

Torr shouted, “Get back!”

Grace backed up three long steps until she was teetering on the edge of the cliff. The creature realized too late what lay on the other side of its prey. It tried to slow down, but the shiny serrated paws slid through dirt and leaves like they were water.

She took one more step and fell from the cliff just as the Hunter toppled over the edge. Their screams mingled for a split second—hers filled with fear and the Hunter’s a harsh, alien howl.

Then her scream stopped abruptly, and Torr knew Grace was gone.