Blood Moon (12 page)

Aslyn swallowed against the lump of
sickness welling in her throat. “It was you? You … butchered
Wilhem?”

He stared at her a long moment and
began to laugh. “You thought you’d done it?”

Fury surged through her, suddenly,
violently, pushing all other considerations to the back of her
mind. “You killed John! You monster!”

He shrugged. “When the beast is upon
me….”

Aslyn shook her head, too angry to
think straight, but one fact stood out. “No. It doesn’t make any
sense. The moon isn’t full.”

A thin smile curled his lips. “It makes
no sense to you, my dear, because you were not born into the clan.
You were marked, long ago, chosen as mate by one of the brethren.
But his loss is my gain,” he added with a chuckle, beginning to
advance slowly toward her.

“You summon the beast. It doesn’t
control you.”

“Exactly.”

“Then you
are
a monster! You chose
to slaughter that poor, innocent child!”

Again he shrugged. “The hunger must be
appeased when it comes upon me. I only chose the one handiest to
feed upon.”

Aslyn backed away. “You marked me! You
stole my humanity, made me into a monster like you!” she exclaimed,
lifting her hand.

His eyes narrowed, all traces of humor
vanishing as he stared at her hand. “What happened to your
hand?”

“As if you didn’t know!”

Rage filled his eyes. He leapt at her,
grasping her hand and lifting it to sniff it. He growled, low in
his throat. “You are mine! I meant to have you when you came into
your first season, but you escaped. I’ve searched for you for three
long years. I’m of no mind to allow you to escape me
again!”

Aslyn snatched her hand from his grip
and leapt away from him. “Nay! I’ll not allow you to touch me, you
monster! I’d die, rather!”

He lunged for her. She screamed as his
arms closed around her. Dropping down, she managed to slip from his
grasp, but he caught hold of her hair before she could get away.
Pain shot through her scalp as he jerked her upright and flung her
toward the bed. She skidded across it and slammed into the wall so
hard it shook from the impact, clods of dried mud raining down
around her.

He reached for her again, dragging her
toward him so that her gown rode up around her waist. Aslyn kicked
him, rocking him back momentarily. Knocking her legs out of his
way, he tried to grasp her flailing arms. She slapped at him,
curled her fingers and clawed his arms, but the leather made her
efforts ineffectual. He lunged at her, forcing the breath from her
as he landed on top of her. The bed creaked, groaned and finally
gave way under their combined weight.

Aslyn was still struggling to drag air
into her lungs when Algar flew from her. She blinked, rubbed the
dirt from her eyes so that she could see.

Kale was standing over Algar, breathing
heavily.

Relief and joy flooded her, but both
vanished almost immediately as it dawned on her that Kale was no
match for Algar. As strong as he was, Algar probably outweighed him
by twenty pounds or more. Moreover, Algar was not human. He had the
strength of the beast.

She screamed as Algar bounded from the
floor and crashed into Kale. Forced back by the other man’s
superior weight, Kale slammed into the table, shattering it into
splinters of wood. Before Algar could leap upon him, he rolled
away, coming to his feet once more in the half crouch of a knife
fighter’s stance, a wicked blade gripped tightly in one
hand.

Algar drew his blade as well, circling
Kale, blocking the only way in or out of the cottage.

Aslyn scrambled crab-like across the
floor, seized a piece of the table leg and hurled it in Algar’s
direction. His eyes widened in surprise as it struck him on the
shin. Distracted, Kale’s head whipped around. Algar roared and
charged. Aslyn grabbed up another board and hurled it. His eyes
widening in surprise, Kale jumped aside. The block of wood missed
him by mere inches and smacked into Algar’s forehead. He stumbled.
Before he could recover, or Aslyn launch another missile, Kale
launched himself at Algar, swinging his blade so fast it was a mere
blur of motion, slicing three long cuts across the leather jerkin
Algar wore.

Algar leapt back, landing on one of the
pieces of wood Aslyn had thrown at him. It rolled, pitching him
backward through the doorway.

Kale rushed at him, launching himself
at the fallen man, but Algar recovered quickly. Jerking his feet
up, he connected with Kale’s belly as he descended. Lifting the
huntsman, Algar used Kale’s own momentum to pitch him head first
into the cottage yard.

Aslyn could no longer see Kale, had no
idea of whether he was too hurt to recover quickly enough. As Algar
scrambled to his feet, she caught sight of her own knife. Snatching
it up, gripping it tightly in her fist, she rushed Algar even as he
turned to attack Kale once more. She wasn’t even aware of screaming
until Algar swung back toward her, but she was far quicker than he.
She embedded her dagger in his shoulder up to the hilt before he
could swing at her to fend her off. He roared as she sank the blade
home, swinging at her with his balled fist and catching her across
the jaw.

Pain exploded inside her head, sending
bright, white lights through the darkness that settled over her
like a cloak even as she flew backwards and struck the wall.
Stunned by the blow, it took her several moments to fight the
darkness off, to roll onto her knees. Even the certainty that he
would follow the blow by an attack was not enough to will strength
into her limbs. Finally, however, she managed to stagger to her
feet and look around.

Dimly, outside, she heard the sounds of
a struggle. Crawling across the floor, she found a leg of the table
and, after several aborted attempts, managed to get to her feet.
Weaving like a drunk, she focused on the door and made her way
across the cottage, slumping against the door frame as she reached
it, surveying the area outside. Algar, she saw to her immense
relief, had vanished. Kale was struggling to get to his
feet.

He looked up at her, studied her for a
long moment. A smile tugged at his lips. “I hope you don’t mean to
use that on me.”

Aslyn blinked, looked down at the table
leg in her hand. “He’s gone?”

The smile vanished. A grim look took
its place as he turned and stared off into the darkness that
shrouded the land. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

Aslyn’s knees buckled, and she sat
abruptly.

Kale was on his feet in an instant,
striding toward her. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms
and carried her inside, kicking the door closed with his foot.
After surveying the damage inside the cottage, he moved to the
hearth. Kneeling, he sat her so that her back was against the wall
nearest the fireplace. “Don’t move.”

Striding across the room, he lifted the
mattress from the broken bed frame and returned. Setting it in
front of the hearth, he scooped her up once more and settled her
carefully on top of it. “Where are you hurt, sweeting?”

Stunned as she was by all that had
happened the endearment warmed her, perhaps more so because he
didn’t seem even to realize that he’d said it. “I’m not hurt,” she
said shakily. She was shivering, her teeth trying to clatter
together despite her efforts to control the jerking in her jaws.
Dimly, she was aware of a dozen or more areas on her body that
throbbed dully with pain, but she knew they were bruises only,
nothing serious enough to claim as wounds.

“Don’t try to be brave. Tell
me.”

Aslyn shook her head, fighting a sudden
urge to burst into tears. “I’m not at all brave. He frightened me
half out of my wits. But, I’m not hurt. Truly. It’s nothing more
than bruises.”

He ignored her disclaimer, searching
her for any sign of cuts or broken bones. Finally, he sat back on
his heels, studying her bruised face, and renewed fury leapt into
his eyes. “I will kill him by inches when I find him.”

Aslyn grabbed his hand when he made an
abortive movement, as if he would rise. “Don’t! Please don’t go.
Not tonight. He might come back. Besides, you’re hurt. I need to
see to your wounds.”

He shook his head. “It is nothing.
Scratches that will heal quickly enough.”

“At least let me see so that I might be
easy in my mind.”

He studied her a long moment and
finally shrugged. “When I return. I need to see to my horse first.
I won’t be gone long.”

Anger surged through her as she watched
him leave. He was bleeding. The wounds might not be severe, but she
would have far preferred to check them before he went to see after
his horse.

Of course, it would be cruel to leave
the poor, dumb beast outside indefinitely, but surely his own needs
should come first?

Or did he mean to go after Lord Algar,
despite the fact that he’d told her he would not?

Anxiety quashed the anger. She bit her
lip, tempted to rush after him, but in the end she merely rose and
bolted the door. Turning, she surveyed the shambles of the cottage.
It contained very little now that was not broken.

It hurt to walk, to bend, to lift …
even bending her head created a fiercer pounding inside her skull,
but the shattered remnants of the furniture and crockery
represented any number of ‘traps’ for the unwary. Slowly, moving
like an old woman, she collected the broken pieces of wood that
were the remains of bedstead, table and chair, and piled them
beside the hearth to burn. Her own meager belongings were scattered
about the room. She made a pile of the broken crockery near the
door and collected her belongings, tying them in a bundle and
leaving them near one wall, out of the way. She’d just collected
the last fragments of crockery that she could see and started
toward the door when someone tried the door, then rapped on it
sharply.

“Who is it?” Aslyn called out in a
breathless squeak.

“Who are you expecting?” came the dry
reply.

Dropping the crockery on the pile
beside the door, Aslyn unbolted it and pulled the door open. Kale
strode inside, surveyed the room and turned to her as she bolted
the door behind him.

“You are a stubborn woman.”

She smiled tiredly and, on impulse,
threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I thought you
would not come back,” she said in a voice muffled against his
chest.

His arms came around her briefly, but
then he pulled away, guided her back to the mattress on the floor
and made her sit. She was about to protest when he joined her. She
reached for the ties of his shirt. “Here. Let me see to your
hurts.”

His brows rose, but he didn’t argue as
she loosened the ties and pulled his tunic over his head. To her
surprise, but with a great deal of relief, she saw he had not
underestimated his injuries. There were a number of scrapes, along
his ribs, and on his arms, but none deep enough to require
attention. Already, they had closed and ceased to bleed. He had a
number of bruises, as well, on his chest and back, and a long, dark
mark on his shoulder that made her wonder if she’d struck him with
the table leg when she’d thrown it.

She relaxed. Realizing she was still
shaking, she pulled her cloak more snugly about her and shifted
closer to the fire. “You are no more hurt than I,
thankfully.”

He frowned, looked around the cottage.
After a moment, he rose and took the rolled quilt from the pile
near the wall, pulled the ties from it and returned, shaking it out
and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Which I owe to skill, and
you to pure luck,” he responded coolly. “It was foolish of you to
endanger yourself needlessly.”

Aslyn frowned at him, but discovered
she simply didn’t have the energy to argue with him. Giving in to
her aches and pains, she lay down on the mattress, trying to ignore
the throbbing in her cheek. “I should’ve allowed you to fight him
alone, I suppose, but I was not entirely confident that you could
beat him and thought it best to add my poor efforts to yours, lest
I be left to fend him off again, alone.”

He chuckled.

She opened her eyes, a little surprised
that he had taken the insult to his manhood so calmly. He shifted
until he was lying beside her. “Next time, make certain I am not in
the line of fire before you begin throwing the
furniture.”

Aslyn stiffened slightly as he pulled
her into his arms and settled her against his chest, but as his
warmth seeped into her, she relaxed once more. “I missed you,” she
mumbled.

“More accurately, I ducked,” he
murmured in a voice laced with amusement.

She shrugged. “I still missed
you.”

“True.”

She sniffed, finding she had to fight
the urge to burst into tears. “I lost my dagger.”

He shook. When she opened one eye a
crack to look at him, she saw that he was trying to suppress a
chuckle. “He took it with him, I’m afraid. As much as I appreciate
your efforts to defend me, that was most ignoble of you to stab him
in the back.”

Again, Aslyn shrugged. “Is it my fault
he didn’t turn around?”