Assassin's Honor (28 page)

           
"Are you telling me that's the gauntlet?" She pointed toward the human-made passageway with an expression of horror.

           
"Yes." He looked over his shoulder and jerked his head in a silent command for Lysander to join them. When he started to turn away from her, she grabbed his arm to hold him still.

           
"I never agreed to you doing this in my place."

           
"You agreed to it the moment you acknowledged the blood bond. It gave me the right to take your punishment."

           
"Then I take it back," she said vehemently. "It's insane."

           
Resignation tightened his jaw.
Insanity?
She was probably right, but it was how the Sicari had survived the Praetorians repeated attempts to wipe them out. Without their laws, there was anarchy and annihilation. He couldn't deny the possibility that he might not survive what was to come, but it was the Sicari way. He glanced at the warriors lined up a few yards away. Nothing would have saved her if he had not made the blood bond. He'd done the right thing no matter what happened.

           
"You may be right. But I had one of two choices. Let you run the gauntlet or run it for you."

           
"You can't survive that," she breathed and her hand clutched at his arm in a silent plea.

           
The shock of her touch raced up his arm. It created an intense need to pull her close. The fear in her hazel eyes made him reach out to brush his fingers across her cheek.

           
"I agree the odds aren't good," he said with a pragmatic expression and shrugged. He immediately grimaced at the pain lashing its way through his shoulder down into his hand. "But you had no odds at all.

           
Lysander and Phae reached them at almost the same instant. The moment she stopped in front of him, Phae glared at him.
"You and your bloody honor.
It's these kinds of heroics that get people killed," she said fiercely. "Let me heal your shoulder."

           
"There's no time." He waved her hand off. "You need to see to Emma's hand."

           
"Emma will live," Phae snapped. "You know a healer can't go near you the first twenty-four hours after a gauntlet run."

           
Phae's voice reflected her deep fear that he wouldn't survive. He didn't try to reassure her. Rather pointless when even he wasn't sure of his chances. He nodded abruptly as his sister grabbed his hands and closed her eyes. The pain in his shoulder eased considerably in seconds. As he watched Phae concentrate, he experienced the usual guilt that came with seeing her taking on the physical pain of his injuries.

           
Her knit sweater grew wet with blood at her shoulder and she groaned softly. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her agony. Beside her, Lysander's features were as
stoic
as always. His Primus Pilus rarely showed any emotion at times like these, but the muscle tic in his friend's face emphasized how serious the situation was. He could have done without the silent reminder.

           
When Phae released his hands, she swayed slightly. Before Ares could react, Lysander extended his hand to steady her. Phae brushed off his assistance and sent her brother a stark look of fear.

           
"I couldn't heal it completely. The old wound interfered with the healing process." It was the helpless note in her voice that scraped at him. Phae never liked to admit to fear.

           
"It will do," he said as he tested the shoulder with a slow movement.

           
He turned to Lysander. "You know what to do if anything happens to me. I charge you with all the responsibility I currently hold."

           
"Understood."
The disfigured warrior gave him an abrupt nod.
"Your ability?"

           
"Nothing a little rest won't cure." His ability was so weak at the moment, he wasn't even sure he could deflect the more deadly blows as he moved down the corridor of Sicari fighters.

           
"Watch Sybil's men.
They weren't happy to see you this evening. I doubt their mood has changed." The warning was the only indication his Primus Pilus was concerned for him.

           
Resignation tightened his jaw as he turned toward the warriors forming the gauntlet. Sybil Castella ran the New York guild. The woman had made it her mission to make his life miserable whenever possible because he'd brushed off her overtures years ago. If Sybil's fighters were angry, it meant his godmother's men would not go easy on him. They wouldn't want their honor questioned.
Another point against him.
He rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension holding them tight. As he glanced in Emma's direction, his gut tightened at the fear on her pale face.

           
"This is
all my
fault," she said with a note of panic in her voice. "I can't let you do this."

           
"You don't have a choice," he said softly.
Best to just walk away.

           
Ares turned and headed toward the gauntlet. He'd only gone a couple of steps when he stopped. If he didn't survive the night, he damn well wasn't about to die without another kiss. Fotte, he wanted a lot more than a kiss, but it was the best he was going to get at the moment. He whirled around to stride back to her and roughly tugged her into his arms.

           
The taste of her flooded his mouth as his tongue mated with hers. She didn't resist him. Instead, her body melted into his and she responded to his kiss with a fervor that heightened his desire for more. Hot and sweet on his tongue, she stirred a primitive need inside him. Every time he tasted her, he found himself wanting more. His hands slid through her silky hair and he deepened the kiss, his mouth drawing every last bit of response from her he could.

           
With her arms wrapped around his neck, she burrowed her body into his and a soft sound hitched in her throat. The finality of his kiss terrified
her,
and her lips clung to his in an effort to keep him from what she knew was certain death. The heat of his tongue dancing with hers sent fire racing through her limbs to make every nerve ending in her body cry out with frantic need.
A need to keep him with her.
To hold on to him and keep him safe.

           
How was it possible for her to feel so connected to a man she barely knew? Yet, against the surreal backdrop of everything she'd witnessed in the past twenty-four hours, being in his arms was the most natural thing she'd ever experienced. The pressure of his mouth against hers eased. No, not yet. His hands gripped her arms gently, yet firmly, as he pushed her away from him.

           
The resignation on his face filled her with fear and she reached out to him. He caught her hand and pressed his mouth to her fingertips. There was a hint of mischief in his dark blue gaze as he offered her a slight smile.

           
"It's all right," he murmured. "But the next time you think about interfering, Emma, don't."

           
Guilt stabbed through her as he turned and walked away. As the distance grew between them, the gash in her hand
throbbed
a painful reminder why he was putting his life on the line. She took a step forward and a strong hand held her in place. She didn't have to look up at Lysander to know he was keeping her from going after Ares. The sudden beat of the drum echoed in the glade. Unlike the strong cadence it had played earlier, now the drum
resounded
a soft, insidious rhythm as Ares came to a halt at the edge of the gauntlet. He withdrew his sword from its scabbard and handed it to the woman he referred to as the Prima Consul.

           
"Bis vivit qui bene moritur," Ares said in a strong voice then threw
himself
forward in a low roll past the first two fighters of the corridor.

           
Taken by surprise, both fighters swung their swords but missed him as Ares rolled past them. The next two men did not. Emma inhaled a sharp breath as he blocked a blade with his forearm. The weapon drew blood. How much she couldn't tell, but the moonlight illuminated the glistening sleeve.

           
Behind him, the other fighter's sword seemed to dance off his back in what she prayed was little more than a scratch. Relief swept through her. Just as he had fighting Maximus, his telekinetic ability would help him survive. As Ares continued down the deadly corridor, the fighter on his left swung his weapon downward. In a lightning move, Ares stopped the sword's descent by clapping the blade between his palms.

           
With a quick twist of his hands, he knocked the sword free of the fighter's grip. As the weapon sailed up into the air, Ares snapped his hand out and reached for the sword's hilt. He wasn't fast enough. Instead, the airborne sword went spinning out of his reach as the Sicari warrior behind Ares smacked the weapon aside. In a seamless move, the fighter continued the smooth arc of her sword downward and sliced into the back of Ares's thigh. Emma moaned as she watched him grimace with pain and limp forward along the gauntlet. There were at least a dozen more fighters he had to pass.

           
She didn't even want to think about his odds, and her stomach lurched at the reality of his situation. He was suffering because of her. All of this was her fault. He'd warned her not to interfere. Her impulsive behavior had most likely sentenced him to death. The knowledge cut into her with the same physical strength as the blows Ares was enduring right now.

           
Although he hadn't cried out, she could tell he was in great pain because he barely missed the next pair of blades flying toward his head. He only managed to avoid them by throwing himself into the air in a handless cartwheel that ended with his injured leg crumpling beneath him and a sword plunging into his bicep.

           
She uttered a small cry of fear and took a step forward. Immediately, Lysander's strong hand gripped her arm. She glanced up at the scarred fighter.

           
"I'm not going to interfere," she choked out.

           
"Good," the warrior said in a dark tone.
"Because he'll not survive a second run."

           
"He should be deflecting those blows." A rush of panic slid through her as Ares barely missed a thrust to his chest. "Why isn't he using his ability to protect himself?"

           
"Our ability drains quickly during a fight. He had little left after fighting Maximus."

           
"Oh my God," she breathed in horror.

           
The chill engulfing her deepened as she looked up at the fighter's grim expression. The icy cold penetrated her skin and sank its way into every part of her until even her bones felt brittle. Her gaze focused on Ares, silently willing him to keep moving. He stumbled forward as two swords headed straight for his chest.

           
Like a limbo dancer, he slid under the blades and then rolled forward like a log down a hill. The points of two swords pierced his arms, and for the first time she heard him utter a noise.
Anger.
He was angry. That was good. It had to be. If he was angry, it meant he wouldn't give up easily. And she didn't want him to give up. She wanted him to live.

           
Now more than halfway through the gauntlet, he staggered to his feet, barely dodging two more sword thrusts as he moved forward. Still, the tip of a sword sliced open his cheek. Blood gushed from the wound, and he grunted. Only six fighters left. He stumbled in his attempt to stay in the middle of the corridor, and watching him do so made her heart ache with a physical pain.

           
One of the Sicari he passed managed to land a kick in his groin and he sank to his knees with a loud whoosh of air leaving his lungs. The fighter on the other side of the corridor thrust her sword into Ares's other thigh. Tears streamed down Emma's face as she watched him crawl forward on his belly. The next four fighters jabbed at him as if he were a pin cushion.

           
Emma struggled to keep the bile from rising in her throat. One of the warriors laid a vicious kick into Ares's side, actually rolling him onto his back from the force of the blow. To her horror he simply lay there. He didn't move. He just lay still on the ground. No, he had to get up. Oh God, was he dead? No. She could see his chest moving from his ragged breathing. He had to get up. If he didn't, he would die for certain. He only had two more fighters to get past.

           
"Get up," she said softly. "Get up, Ares. Don't just lie there."

           
Beside her, Lysander grunted with approval. When she looked up at him, the warrior nodded his approval. "Encouragement is not interference."

           
She looked back at Ares and his still form in the gauntlet. The last two fighters stood ready to attack. A wave of fury swept over her. He was too damn close to stop now. Not moving would be the death of him.