First Of Her Kind (Book 1) (8 page)

"Would it satisfy you to drag them off the road?" he asked.

"If that's all that can be done," she said, her voice unsteady.

Donovan turned his back and walked to the carcass nearest the tree. Were it not such a blatant waste of power, he would call up his own and incinerate the vermin. Then again, it would prove an interesting test of the girl's control to have her do it.

He turned, and the words died on his lips in a spray of bark as an arrow bit into the tree half an arm span from his head. He slid a gaze up the dark, quivering shaft, past the startled girl to the archer standing in the road.

"Hello, General," Donovan said dryly. "Not dead then, I see."

CHAPTER SIX

Ciara's heart lurched against her chest at the thought of another attack, and she whirled, prepared to run. The flash of panic brought her earth magic swarming protectively around her, but it faded as soon as her eyes landed on the archer. "Bolin!"

He stood in the middle of the road, another arrow drawn and aimed.

"This one's not for the tree," he said to Donovan, and his gaze never left his target. "Ciara, come here."

"It's all right, Bolin," she said. Her knees began to wobble as relief replaced the sudden jolt of fear. "You can put your bow down. This is Donovan. He's helping me."

"We're well acquainted," Bolin said. He nodded a gesture at the ground behind her, but Ciara refused to look. "Is that his handiwork, then?"

"Are you dismayed they did not fall by your hand, General?" Donovan said. "I know how much you enjoy meting out the Emperor's justice."

"Were I so keen on that kind of justice, I'd kill you where you stand."

"You have had other opportunities to kill me."

Bolin flicked his gaze at Ciara. "Come here. Now."

"Put your bow down." It made her nervous, being in his direct line of fire, though she hoped he wouldn't put an arrow through her -- on purpose or by accident.

"The day is fading," Donovan said. "It would be safer, perhaps, to make for my fortress."

Bolin barked a laugh. "We'll take our chances under the stars."

Ciara's stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of spending the night anywhere near the road, even with Bolin. The wobble in her knees turned into a full-blown tremor that worked its way into her voice. "I'd rather not."

Bolin's brows formed a hard, straight line as he turned his gaze to her, and Ciara couldn't decide if she saw anger or concern. He studied her a long time, and Ciara began to fidget under his scrutiny.

"Please, Bolin. We still have to-" She gestured backwards. Her stomach roiled, and she swallowed against the urge to throw up again. She couldn't meet his eyes. He thought Donovan had killed those men. What, on the Goddess's green earth, would he think of her when he found out the truth?

"Ciara?"

She shook her head without looking at him. "No, please, I just want to go."

"You'll not go with him."

"You cannot prevent her," Donovan said.

"Care to place a wager on that?"

"Stop it!" Ciara's temper flared. "I won't be talked about like I'm not even here."

Put an end to it then.
The quiet voice in the back of her mind felt like Donovan, and Ciara glanced over her shoulder at him. His expression gave nothing away.
You have seen how easy it is for one such as you. Draw your focus inward, see your power as the living thing it is. Call it past the Goddess’s stale, decrepit magic.

Such a simple thing really.

"Don't," Bolin said, the single word laced with warning.

But the voice persisted.
It takes no more effort than drawing breath.

Ciara's head throbbed, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. The air around them pushed outward. It crackled with static that crept like cobwebs across her skin. Everything had gone still, as though they stood trapped in the breath taken before a scream.

"I will not miss," Bolin said.

Donovan slid his dark gaze over her shoulder, and Ciara felt it as a soft caress when it brushed past. It held meaning and intent. There were words wrapped within that look that Ciara couldn’t decipher. And Bolin returned one of his own, sparking across the distance as his arrow had.

After a moment longer Donovan dipped his head in a slight, arrogant nod. "Well played, General. I concede you this round. Take her, then, for now. But you will not keep her."

He stepped forward, and caught Ciara’s hand. He raised it to his lips and brushed the back of it with a light kiss. As he did so, the world released its breath. "He will keep you safe, lady," Donovan said softly, his dark eyes sharp. "Trust that, but do not trust him."

He whistled, and a sleek, black horse trotted onto the road. Donovan gathered the reins and mounted, his eyes locked with Bolin's one last time, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. "I think I am going to enjoy this new game."

The horse pivoted neatly on its haunches and cantered down the road.

Ciara stood, rooted in place, watching horse and rider disappear. "You didn't need to attack him."

Bolin came up behind her and she turned. He had lowered his bow, but his attention remained on Donovan's receding form until man and horse disappeared from view. His gaze swept over the still figures sprawled on the road, before coming back to her. He reached up to lightly touch her cheek, and Ciara winced.

"Are you all right?"

And she knew he meant more than just the obvious.

"No." Even though she tried to prevent it, the word came out as a sob. Bolin reached for her, but she batted his hands away and took a step back. She pointed at the lifeless attackers, her eyes on Bolin's, and somehow kept the scream she felt from reaching her words. "I did that. I killed them. I didn't mean to do it, but I did!"

A look of dismay crossed his face. "Tell me what happened."

Ciara took a deep, shuddering breath. "They were going to–" Her chin quivered, and the words damned up. They were clear in her head but saying them made it too real.

Bile filled her mouth. She sprinted to the edge of the road, leaned into the bushes and vomited until she had nothing left, and her gut twisted painfully in on itself. Only then did she drop to her knees, and bury her face in her hands. No matter how she tried to drive the image of Scar-face out of her mind, it remained vivid -- his eyes bulging out of the purple flesh of his face the worst of them all.

She flinched when Bolin touched her, but he ignored it and handed her a water skin. "Rinse."

Ciara took a mouthful of water, sloshed it around, and spit it out. She wiped her chin with her sleeve, and didn't resist when Bolin slipped an arm around her shoulders to help her up. He guided her to a log and made her sit, hunkering down in front of her. He pulled a flask from a satchel at his feet, and handed that to her.

"Spiced wine," he said. "It'll help."

Ciara shook so badly, Bolin had to guide the flask to her lips so she could drink without spilling all over herself. When she finished, he re-corked it and returned the flask to the satchel, then took her hands in his. "Look at me."

She shook her head. She'd sell her soul to make this day nothing but a bad dream, and praise the mother Goddess until eternity for such a miracle. Bolin squeezed her fingers.

"Look at me," he said again.

She raised her eyes to his. They looked more grey than green in the gathering dusk, with no hint of shock or anger, but far more intensity than she could tolerate.

"Whatever happened here, you need to let it go," he said. "There's no changing it."

"I killed them."

"Shh." He placed a finger against her lips to silence her. "It doesn't matter. Not now."

His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb caressing the line of her chin. When his eyes drifted to her throat, she saw the muscles in his neck tighten, and his mouth twisted. He felt around in the satchel, and pulled out a small, earthenware jar, untied the twine that secured a piece of leather over its mouth, and dipped two fingers into the contents. The flowery, fresh smell of calendula wafted to her nostrils. Ciara tipped her head back to allow Bolin to gently smear the salve along her throat where Scar-face's belt had left it raw.

"I didn't know you were a healer," she said, teasing -- an attempt to lighten the moment.

"I have quite a few skills you don't know about." He reached up and smoothed a finger full of salve across her cheek as well. "Any other injuries?"

"My knee." She extended her leg, and tugged her britches out of her boot, rolling them up to expose a deep swollen gash. Kneeling on it had re-opened the wound and fresh blood oozed around its edges.

Bolin handed her the jar to hold, retrieved the water skin and some scraps of fabric, and gently cleaned the wound. Ciara winced, and jerked her leg back.

"Sorry," he said. " I'd imagine this would benefit from a poultice, or a true healer -- which I'm not."

"The salve will be fine," Ciara said. "If you could just wrap it for me?"

He did a better job of bandaging the wound than Ciara would have guessed for someone who claimed not to be a healer. "Bolin?"

"If that's all, we need to get moving."

He retied the piece of leather on the top of the jar and returned it to his satchel. He studied Ciara's face a moment longer. Her knees warmed where his hands rested, and the sensation traveled up her thighs.

"Fetch the horses. Sandeen's just down the road a bit." He glanced in the other direction, and any warmth Ciara felt vanished in the reality of what laid there. "I'll take care of them."

She started to ask what Bolin planned to do with the bodies, and then decided she really didn't want to know. She pushed off the log and he stood with her. His hand lingered on her arm.

"Their fate would've been no different had I gotten here sooner," he said.

"That's what Donovan said."

She felt him stiffen. "Well then, that's one thing he and I agree on."

"Bolin-"

"We need to go, Ciara. Now. Get the horses."

He turned her and gave a push, but Ciara managed only a few steps before stopping. She gazed at Fane, grazing on the grass at the edge of the road, and wished she could be as oblivious. Damn the Goddess. Her actions were to blame for setting Ciara on this path. Meriol had wanted Ciara to be a healer, not a murderer. What good did earth magic serve? She couldn't use it to undo what had happened. It wouldn't have saved her from those men. It -- and the Goddess -- would have allowed her to be-

She squeezed her eyes shut. A tear caught on the salve across her cheek and slid toward her ear. Ciara wiped it irritably away. Images flashed through her mind and her chest tightened. She had wanted Scar-face dead. She had willed the wilding to tighten the belt around his neck until she heard his bones crunch like gravel under her feet. It had been so easy.

As easy as drawing breath.

"Ciara," Bolin's voice held on odd tone, "the horses."

She nodded without turning, but she could feel his eyes on her even after she started walking.

* * *

Bolin grunted, the muscles across his chest straining as he shouldered the first of the corpses. Thank the Goddess the sacred nature of the grove, and Ciara's own earth magic, had helped contain her outburst that morning, or he would have beat these two to the other side.

He dropped the body beside a rotting log and turned to retrieve the second. He'd be able to do little, other than cover them with fallen branches. They deserved even less. Had Bolin the time, he would track down the magistrate of these lands and hold him accountable as well.

A sword lay beside the second body. Simple in design, it may have been an adequate weapon once, but the blade showed years of abuse and neglect. This man had gone more slowly than his companion. Ciara said they hadn't completed their rape, but they must have come close. The force that drove the tightening of that belt until the neck bones snapped had been bred of cold, personal rage, with no room for mercy.

Goddess's blood! Bolin's fingers curled into fists at the thought of their hands on Ciara. Worse yet, what it had driven her to do. The physical injuries would heal. The emotional scars of killing -- even in self-defense -- would haunt her.

He dumped the second body next to the first, covered them both with branches, and damned them to the hell they deserved.

When he returned to the road, Ciara had brought the horses up and now stood between them, her arm wrapped under Fane's jaw. Her shoulders sagged, and her eyes looked sunk in her face. The bruise across her cheek showed as a dark smudge even in the fading light. He needed to get them some place they could both get some sleep without worrying that Donovan would happen upon them. Reaching Dryw Hrine would now mean avoiding him -- which also meant taking trails few knew existed. They weren't easy trails and by no means a shorter route.

Bolin dug through one of the packs slung over Sandeen's rump until he found a lead rope. Ciara's brow furrowed as she watched him tie one end to his saddle, the other to Fane's bridle.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"You've already run off on me twice," he said. "I'd rather not have it happen again."

She blinked at him. "I won't go anywhere." She sounded exhausted but her voice still held a sharp edge.

Bolin avoided making eye contact with her. He needed to regain the distance between them. Her vulnerability and pain twisted inside of him, fueling his desire to shield her, or coddle her. He'd protect her with his life, but to do that required a clear head, not one clouded by emotion and desire.

"And I'm to trust you why?"

The flash of anger that remark elicited may as well have been a physical slap, it had as much force. Bolin held Fane's stirrup. "Get on." When Ciara hesitated, he turned, took her by the arm and pulled her away from the gelding's head. "Do I need to put you on him myself?"