The Sanction (10 page)

If there was indeed a baby in her womb,
she would have to escape this place. That in itself would prove
impossible, for he would have the entire stronghold locked down the
minute he realized that she was gone. If the Weres recognized that
she carried no scent, then chances were the Hunters would as well.
They, however, would not lay an abusive hand on her until the Elder
ordered it. To escape such a fate and save the life within her, she
would have to find some means of fleeing their escort back to the
manse.

Biting her nails nervously, she tried
to steady her breathing.

There is no need to worry yet, she
chided herself.

First, she had to confirm the
suspicion. Then, she needed to feed.

****

He had not come.

Amarinda considered the contrast of her
pale hands against the dark fur she had ensconced herself in to
ward off the cold. The threat of tears burned her eyes. She allowed
the fat droplets to trickle down her face and splash into her lap.
Even if she tried to blink them away, they fell all the
same.

Tonight she would be ransomed. Tonight
she would be brought with the lives of the Hunters who were sworn
to protect her – she would be returned by her mate who she was now
bound to until her last breath.

As the daylight faded, the ache in her
heart only grew, and so did her fear. Still, she was uncertain
about the validity of Rhys’ claim. But if he was wrong, why did
Graeme abandon her? She had hoped to share her last moments at the
stronghold with him. She wanted to savor a last kiss, a last touch.
Instead, she was left cold, alone and afraid.

At dusk, she caught his scent down the
hall. Heart thundering, she positioned herself close to the window
and presented a very cold exterior. His footsteps were soft when he
approached the locked door. He paused there. She waited, wanting
him to venture, half afraid that he would not. The echo of metal
grating preceded a flutter within her stomach. A quiver shot
through her. On gently protesting hinges, the door was pushed in.
Even with her back facing him, she knew he looked at
her.

“
Tonight is the new moon,”
she offered to fill the silence that was beginning to stretch
between them.

He advanced in slow, calculated steps.
“So it is.”

She could not bring herself to look at
him. The pain within her breast proved near overwhelming. “There is
something I must ask you.” When he said nothing, she took that as a
sign that he was listening and continued. “Is it true that I carry
no scent?”

For a painstaking moment he was silent.
When he spoke, his voice sounded strained. “Yes.”

Amarinda hiccupped and sucked in an
agonizing gasp. She darted to her feet and faced him squarely, eyes
swamped with unshed tears. His hair was wet and he smelled of fresh
water and herbs, and his eyes, dark in the shadows, were focused
upon her. She cleared her throat and worked her jaw in an attempt
to speak. “Do – do you hear it?”

Another pause. She noted the way he
cocked his head and focused. With baited breath, she waited. He
stepped forward almost hesitantly and tried again before shaking
his head.

“
Then – then maybe you are
mistaken. Maybe -”

“
You are with child
Amarinda,” he sliced in softly. Trembling, she found her way to the
bed and sank her weight into the furs. Hearing him speak the words
chased rational thought out of her mind. In that split second she
had forgotten about her plan to escape the Coven. It was the sudden
shift of the bed that forced her to look up and acknowledge his
presence. He did not touch her. They sat unspeaking for a long
time.

Amarinda interlocked her fingers and
chewed on her lower lip, the mechanisms in her brain working
incessantly. It was winter, and she did not know these lands. As
far as she could see, the stronghold was well hidden in the depths
of the mountains. The Hunters had been trained to track since they
could walk. They would find her effortlessly, and upon her capture,
the Elder would no doubt include a more brutal form of punishment
for her attempt to flee. Not only would there be the Hunters, but
Weres as well. Because she had lost her scent, they might not harm
her, but would be suspicious all the same. She would have to trade
in her clothes for a used, human garb in order to side-track their
enquiry. Her only other option would be to ask him for
help.

She hesitated and dashed tears from her
eyes promptly. She would find no aid here. He had not marked her,
and he was set on seeing her ransomed. She would have to take her
chances with the Hunters.

“
I will return before
midnight. Be ready and waiting.” His tone was clipped and had lost
all tenderness. Stung, she pushed away the hurt and darted to her
feet before he made it to the door.

“
It is cold and I am hungry.
I would like a boon of warm clothing and…”

He looked at her, and for a split
second he appeared almost anguished. Still, he turned to her and
unclipped the thick fur from around his neck. It was adjusted about
her shoulders slowly. Amarinda stood unmoving, relishing each brush
his hands made against her body. When he slipped off the shirt and
offered his neck, she closed her eyes and leaned into his whipcord
frame. Her teeth breeched the wall of his skin and she heard him
hiss at the agony there. The pleasure would come. It always made
him loose control. She waited for it, needing him now more than
ever. He trembled, and when his fingers sank into her arms
painfully, it was to push her away. There was finality in the way
he released her.

Amarinda pressed her pale fingers to
the blood, stained on her lips and whimpered, the need deep in her
belly becoming an urgent ache. His nostrils flared at the evidence
of her desire. He stepped away, shirt in hand, and turned his back
without as much as a backward glance.

She stumbled upon the bed feebly. The
door was closed and bolted. Her hand went to her stomach
protectively. This was his offspring. This was the reason she had
to pull herself together and fight. Still, no matter how she tried
to shake the hurt, it refused to cease.

Chapter Eight

“
What is taking them so
long?” Macer shifted on his mount, impatience heavy in his voice.
Beside him, Vilirus did not offer a reply. His dark gaze was
focused on the stronghold that was heavily guarded and well lit.
From their position hidden just within the tree line, he noted the
Weres that lined the outer wall.

“
We should have brought more
Hunters,” Macer continued softly. His horse pranced nervously
beneath his agitated form. “Sutter said he would deliver on the eve
of the new moon. He is late. If everything does not go according to
plan -”

“
He will not renege on his
word,” Vilirus offered nonchalantly.

For a quarter of an hour they waited in
silence. When the tell-tale rumbled of hoof beats was heard on the
gentle wind, both men turned their mounts around and ventured
deeper into the trees and away from the clearing. Moments later,
Silas appeared. Behind each of the three horses was attached a lead
rope, and on the ground, leaving a blood-stained trail in the cold
dirt through two very large sacks, was the smell of dead
flesh.

“
What was that charlatans
excuse for delivering so late?” demanded Macer.

Silas’ expression was guarded when he
replied. “The Lost proved less than – cooperative.”

Vilirus took control of his nervous
horse with an expert hand. “We are being followed. They have been
on our tails from the moment we came onto their
territory.”

“
Let us get this over with
then. The moon is almost to the center of the sky. It is
time.”

Before anyone could advance, something
large and swift disturbed the trees in the darkness. The Hunters’
swords were in hand in a flash. Except for the hum of steel, they
made no other sound. A decisive growl warned of an approach. Almost
completely invisible to the human eye, beneath the thick canopy of
leafless branches, they caught the Weres scent long before they
clearly recognized his silhouette. He stood a few feet away,
breathing evenly, body held tight as if ready to bolt at any
moment. He did not pose a threat – yet. Of average height, Macer
noted that he was built like an ox – wide in the shoulder and slim
at the waist – and was covered in a thin layer of hair. His hands
lingered at his sides. Clawed fingers twitched ever so
slightly.

“
Where is your master?” he
whipped in ire.

The Were looked up at him through
lowered lids. “My leader commands that you follow me.”

Macer nudged his mount forward and
paused before looking down his nose. “We have brought the payment –
a hundred heads as demanded. Tell that mongrel son of a bitch to
bring my daughter here, to me.”

“
Your insults may very well
cost you your life, bloodsucker. If you do not follow me, he will
see her killed. Then either way, it is your loss.”

He slinked back into the cover of the
trees. Macer snarled and kicked his mount into a galloping run. The
others followed. On silent feet the Were ran, and were it not for
his scent that left a trail in his wake, the Hunters would have had
a difficult time keeping pace. Well away from the clearing they
rode until they came to a steep hill. Mounts were reigned in
violently. Vilirus sniffed the air and frowned. Silas’ feet touched
the hard earth before any other.

“
They are near the water,”
he informed, adjusting the sword on his back.

Vilirus chewed on his jaw brutally. “It
could be an ambush.”

“
He would not risk it – not
this far from the stronghold.”

Macer was fast on his heels and wasted
no time in unfettering the lead rope from the saddles. He wrapped
both around his wrist and dragged the ransom behind him. Moving
forward, he descended, sure footed. The Hunters followed close
behind. Around them was much movement. Weres were seen lurking in
the shadows, none veering close, but present all the
same.

At the bottom of the hill, a small
group waited - four Weres not counting the man on horseback nor the
seven or so that was counted scouting the trees. At their leaders’
side a woman stood, her head covered with a thick cloak. Macer
frowned and sniffed delicately. She smelled – human. For a moment
rage enflamed him, but he checked his anger and pulled the large
bags with steady fingers. Attentive, they all watched as he
presented the first head. The many growls and grunts of victory
sent his blood to a slow boil.

“
Where is my daughter?” he
demanded venomously. The Were on horseback studied him with care.
Apart from his many escorts, he was the only one in his human form.
Macer clenched his fists at his side and inhaled through his mouth,
enduring the lengthy scrutiny with as much grace as he could
muster. It was damn near difficult to breathe the scent of mangy
dog. “We have done as you demanded. Your hundred heads are here –
count them if you like. But you will hand my daughter over to me,
or not one of you shall leave here alive this night!”

Guttural snarls resonated in the still
air. Macer felt the hair upon his back stand on edge. Their leader
reached for the heavy hood that concealed the face of the woman who
stood close to his side. He pulled it back almost gently. She
lifted her head. In the dim light of the moon, Macer choked on his
voice.

Amarinda’s eyes were flooded with
tears, gleaming brilliantly. There were no marks of abuse on her
flesh. If anything, she had gained a few pounds. Almost weak with
relief, he could not bring his heavy legs to move.

“
Papa?” she whimpered
huskily.

He swallowed the thick saliva that
settled beneath his tongue and held out a hand. “Everything will be
alright. You just come here to me.” She hesitated and stole a
glance at the stoic Were beside her. Macer braved another step
forward, hands trembling to touch her, to hold her, to ensure that
no harm had come to her. “Amarinda, look at me.” Her tear-stained
face regarded him. “I am here now. There is no need to be
afraid.”

Macer could not be certain if the Were
nudged her or not, but seconds later she had bolted and was running
toward him. He launched forward and met her half-way. The moment
her body connected with his, he sank to his knees. She wept onto
his chest. Macer’s heart drummed violently.

“
Hush, hush now love.” He
stroked her hair. It was long and lustrous, brushed to a high
shine. Her nails sank into the fur he wore, and for a moment he did
nothing but savor the feel of her, safe in his arms. Then he
inhaled. The garments she donned reeked of Human, but underneath,
there was nothing. His body tensed considerably. Amarinda must have
felt the sudden shift in his posture, for she ceased her weeping
and lifted her head to meet his eyes.

“
We are mated Papa,” she
whispered. Her words hit him like a blow to the chest. He stumbled
back and sat heavily before her kneeling form. “I – forgive
me…”

Macer buried his eyes in the balls of
his hands and blinked several times to dislodge the chaos that
clouded his mind. What she said could not be true! Such a thing was
unheard of!