Honor Bound
Authors: Moira Rogers
Table of Contents
Copyright
Information
This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events
and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or
used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Honor
Bound
Copyright © 2008 Moira
Rogers
http://www.moirarogers.com
All
rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be
reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express
written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.
Chapter
One
Amaia knelt inside a
dead, hollow tree and waited. "Shh," she whispered. Though
her voice was barely audible, the bound and gagged girl beside her
would have no trouble hearing. The girl was, after all, a
werewolf—and the reason warriors from Amaia's own clan stalked
the moonlit night.
She closed her eyes and
held her breath as the warriors drew closer, their passage marked
only by the whisper of booted feet over dead leaves and soft pine
needles. She'd used too much energy already, just trying to hide from
their sight. That, coupled with the effort she'd expended dragging
the girl through the forest, threatened to drive her into helpless
exhaustion. But she couldn't rest. Not until the search party moved
on.
The girl stirred again,
whimpering, and magic flared as Amaia struggled to cover the noise. A
twig snapped, mere yards from their hiding spot.
This is it. They'll
have my head for claiming a sacrifice as my own.
It would never occur to
them she'd helped the girl escape.
She heard a deep voice
call a hoarse, ritualistic command in their ancestral tongue. It was
Itzal, the commander of their clan's warriors, ordering the team to
move on. Amaia remained motionless until the last shuffling noises
faded, leaving only the innocuous sounds of the night.
She risked a glance at
the girl, who stared at her in shock and fear. After a moment, Amaia
loosened the gag. "If I free you, are you going to fight me, or
are you going to help me get you back to your clan?"
The girl swallowed.
"Why?" Her voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, and fear made
it shake. She couldn't be older than fourteen or fifteen, the
youngest wolf her clan had ever trapped. If she'd been even a few
years older, Amaia would be with her clan now, celebrating their
triumph. Instead, she was hiding in the forest, being hunted like an
animal.
Like a werewolf.
Amaia lowered her eyes
and started untying the ropes. "I'm taking you home because
there's no sense in it. There are always threats to be eliminated and
blood debts to be paid to the Elders, but you're a
child
."
She jerked at a knot, troubled. "It isn't right."
The ropes revealed
delicate wrists sliced open by the silver threads woven through the
rough fiber of the rope. Blood oozed from the wounds, but the girl
blinked back tears and stayed silent. Huge hazel eyes stared up at
Amaia, tinged slightly golden, though it could have been a trick of
the moon. "I'm Callisto, of the Fallen Star Pack. Please help me
get back to my people."
"My name is
Amaia." She wrapped her hands around the girl's tiny wrists,
whispering a call to the demon blood inside her. The wounds healed
under her touch, but a wave of dizziness shook her. She'd nearly
exhausted her reserves, of energy
and
magic, and her only hope was getting them to safety soon. She reached
automatically for the knife at her belt, reassuring in its weight, as
she stepped out of the hollow tree. "I can't use any more magic
to hide us. Can you run?"
Callisto tried to
stand, but her legs wobbled and she hit the pine-needle strewn ground
with a soft grunt. "Not as a human. But if I change, it might be
enough..."
"Do it." She
didn't have the strength to carry the girl. "If they catch up to
us, keep running, no matter what. You might make it alone."
Callisto's clothes had
been all but destroyed already. She dropped them to the forest floor
without a word and tilted her pale face up to the moon. A shiver of
power skittered up Amaia's spine as the moonlight seemed to gather
around them. The girl gasped, a sound that could have been pleasure
or pain, and disappeared. In her place stood a pale white wolf, small
and beautiful. She bumped her head against Amaia's hip once before
gracefully bounding off into the woods.
Amaia followed, her
fleet steps making only a little more noise than Callisto's paws. If
they caught her, she'd be killed. But if they caught the girl...
She ran faster.
Branches and underbrush
whipped at her face and legs, drawing stinging lines of blood, but
she ignored the pain. Easy to do, since the sinking feeling in her
belly eclipsed it anyway. Even if they managed to reach the safety of
the Fallen Star stronghold, they'd be crazy not to turn her out or
kill her. She'd hunted them for years, venturing out of the city with
the rest of the warrior company to deal death and destruction to the
wolves.
Even when they'd
retreated to the deepest heart of the forest, her clan Leaders had
ordered them eliminated. And Amaia had followed those orders, no
matter what she thought of them.
Until now.
There was validity in
most of the arguments made for extermination of the wolves. They were
violent, bestial. Bitter about the loss of their lands and freedom.
And, perhaps most compelling, they were fierce warriors, renowned for
gladly fighting to the death. It made them dangerous foes, and smart
strategy dictated they be eliminated.
But a child wasn't a
threat, and they'd wanted to kill her anyway.
The wolf in front of
her skittered to a stop without warning, her paws sliding over the
ground as she whipped around. Amaia froze, her hand flying to the
weapon at her side. "What's wrong?"
A whisper of noise
above her was the only warning before a dark shadow dropped from one
of the tree branches. She'd barely registered the sound of booted
feet thumping against the ground before a muscular arm locked around
her body, pinning her arms. Cold steel pressed against her throat,
the magic in the blade biting against her skin and promising a swift,
painless death.
A low, harsh voice
spoke against her ear. "And now the demons stalk children
through the woods. Aren't your glutted cities with their human
servants enough for you?"
The quick death he
offered, a magnificent one at the hands of a foe, beckoned. Amaia
relaxed and let her head fall back against his shoulder. Then she
thought of the girl's haunted eyes.
My
death can't be for nothing.
"They're coming," she whispered, even that faint movement
pressing the blade deeper into her skin.
