The Sanction (18 page)

The knock on the door was sharp and
swift. On silent hinges it swung open. Two hunters dressed in
ceremonial attire stood in the hall, both boasting shoulder length
black hair and piercing green eyes. They were from yet another
Coven, she knew. The Elder would show no mercy to her now that she
was home. She prayed for his brutality, prayed he would give her a
death befitting treason and send her to an early grave, for she
could not live another moment without her mate, or her
son.

Hot tears snagged at the back of her
throat but she stiffened her spin. She would not beg, would not be
seen as broken before them.

With chin held impossibly high, she
approached the duo. They considered her and stepped aside as she
swept by. It did not occur to them that they should be escorting
her, but fell into step behind her. After all, she was the Elder’s
granddaughter, no matter how grievous her crime.

Amarinda approached the Council Chamber
with a numb calm. As the doors opened, she sailed in, taking in
each scent, not once averting her gaze from the chair that was
situated directly before her upon a raised dais. There sat
Demetrius, the Elder. Her grandfather. How many times as a child
had she snuggled upon his lap in this very room when the winter
nights were long and her young heart pined for stories from the
past? How many times had he smiled his gentle smile and tweaked her
nose, and promised that one day she would revel in the gift of
eternity? How many times had she believed him?

Now, she loathed him. Although her body
did not sway, she felt the rage simmer in her blood, so close to
her skin she feared she would explode. Five feet from his perch a
Hunter stepped forward and blocked her path with his sword. She
lifted her eyes to consider him. His length of blond hair fanned
around his shoulders. Eyes just as colorless spoke of distrust, and
retribution if she moved to quickly, or deceptively.

It was only then she realized that the
chamber was full. Each chair was occupied, each corner filled with
Hunters. She was not the only female in the room however. To the
far left sat cousins from the east, Lilah and Leah, miracle females
that were highly praised in their beauty. Her mother’s hand was
linked tightly with her fathers’, who she pointedly acknowledged
with a shallow nod. Beside him, her brother stood. Vilirus looked
handsome in his uniform, but his eyes were haunted, grieved. He
opened his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated instead. She turned
her back and once again faced the Elder. Her grandmother was
nowhere to be seen.

The wrinkles upon his face looked
deeper than she recalled, and lines of strain were evident around
his mouth and eyes. Those eyes…as lifeless as the very obsidian
stone beneath her feet. A sliver of fear shot through her, and like
flashes of lightening, she recalled many of the stories the Hunters
told of the Elder. He was fierce, heartless, proud. A true Hunter.
A pure-blood. And he considered her with none of the love and
warmth she had known from him all her life.

Now, she was his enemy. As he was
hers.

That reminder gave her courage and
strength. In the back of her mind she continued to hear the scream
of her son as he was thrown to the depths. A light shaking consumed
her, but she held her ground and dropped her eyes to the floor.
They burned cyan, so enraged was she.

“
The Council has demanded
that you be tried for acts of treason.” His voice was as chilled as
her heart. “I have agreed to partake in this meeting. It is also my
wish to honor the one who brought you home safely.”

The hair at the back of her neck stood
erect and she held her breath. A Hunter stepped forward, clad in
black and gold and red, boasting swords strapped crisscrossed upon
his back. She recognized him instantly. Blood flooded her mouth
when she sank her fangs into her tongue. Pain seized her again, and
in a flash, she relieved each heart wrenching moment of having her
newborn torn out of her arms.

The Elder did not make to move when the
Hunter knelt before him. Slowly, he lifted his hand and allowed the
warrior to kiss the ring on his hand before muttering words in the
old language.

He was honoring him! He was paying the
murderer honor for killing her son, for kidnapping her!

A pulse drummed in her head, swift and
steady, so intense that she could no longer hear her own thoughts.
But thoughts be damned!

Rage forced her to move. Rage and pain
and the sudden needed to annihilate those responsible for the hole
in her chest. In a breath, she was upon him. She saw him brace
himself to stand, noted the look of awe and gratitude he cast his
Coven brothers who themselves appeared proud of his endeavors,
listened to the drum of his heart beat and the sigh of pleasure he
took at being so greatly honored – and moved so quickly it took
everyone a moment to realize exactly what she managed to
accomplish.

The double swords he so boldly carried
upon his back were his own demise, for she held them both. Breaths
heaving, she considered the still standing body of the Hunter she
had, on instinct, decapitated. It took all of ten seconds for his
body to follow his head to the ground. Sprayed in blood, she lifted
her head to the ceiling and felt adrenaline course through her
body. Heat flooded her from head to toe, and when she finally
turned toward the Elder, she realized he was on his feet, his face
stiff, condemning.

The Hunters moved forward all at once,
but she did not fight. Slowly, she lowered the blades and heard
them chime when they hit the blood stained floor.

“
My sentence, my lord?” came
a throaty request.

The weapons were kicked away. The Elder
considered her, condemnation bright in his flaming orbs. “On this
night, for this deed done, one hundred lashes.”

A gasp of horror filled the silent
chamber, its echoes rising and bouncing off the stone columns and
beams. She did not move, did not care if they whipped her until the
very skin was torn from her bones. She longed for death.

“
And if you are foolish
enough to survive that, beheading, when the full moon
wanes.”

A hiccup and a muffled cry tore her
attention to her parents. They were distraught. Vilirus stood
rooted to the floor, unable to contain the heated tears that filled
his eyes. Still, Amarinda felt nothing for them.

“
As you wish, my lord.” Her
voice was distant, unattached. When she turned her back, two
Hunters all but dragged her away. She had executed the one whose
hands had taken her son. With all her heart she wished she had the
strength and the courage to kill the Elder as well, before her own
demise.

Chapter Sixteen

Graeme stood in the thickest part of
the forest and waited. Around him the scent of freshly killed prey
assaulted his nose. There were silent steps running in sequence to
his left. Wolves, he knew, paying him no mind as they disappeared
into the mist as if they were wraiths. Above, the sky was an inky
black. The cold was stingingly numb. With each breath he took,
vapor clouded before his eyes. The wind wrapped him in frigid arms,
and his muscles flexed and shuddered. Concern and worry rode him
hard. With each passing hour, his despair for his mate grew until
the dead weight that replaced the heart in his chest suffocated
him.

Tonight, he would make the
arrangements. Tonight, he would sell his soul if needed.

He paused and closed his eyes,
straining to listen, scenting the air. The hackles at the back of
his neck raised in warning. Instinct as old as time kicked in, and
before he could contain the change, it rippled throughout his body.
The odor of putrid flesh stained the stagnant air. On his feet now,
he heard the first soft footstep crunch the freshly fallen layer of
snow. In the dark before him, the vampire stood. His body was
deceptively relaxed, bottomless eyes the color of clear glass fixed
upon him, studying him with a curious expression that was also
riddled with scars. The hair atop his head was shorn to the scalp.
Odd, for the Hunters were a vain lot, known to take pleasure in
their locks. Graeme shifted. The vampire’s eyes hardened at the
slight movement and did the same, this time strategically
positioning his feet into a comfortable fighting stance.

“
Are you the one called
Sutter?” he grumbled.

The vampire’s grin was menacing. “Are
you the one who kidnapped my niece?” Graeme shrugged as if it were
as inconsequential as the light snow that began to drizzle from the
sky. Sutter’s eyes lowered to slits. “What do you want
Were?”

Graeme’s breaths were heavy, intense.
“It is said that you are the one to hire for…difficult
tasks.”

Sutter considered him with sharp eyes.
“No job is too difficult, if the price is right.”

“
Name your price
then.”

“
What is the
task?”

He inhaled, flared his nostrils at the
stench there, and continued stiffly. “The Coven has taken her from
me. They have taken Amarinda.”

The vampire smirked as if he was not at
all surprised. “And you want her back.” His tone was laced with
mockery.

Graeme felt his fingers twitch. “I want
you to bring her to me. Where she belongs.”

For a stunned moment the vampire’s
expression turned from curious to icy. Features strained, he
studied Graeme with suspicion. “The price will be high as I risk my
own capture,” he finally muttered into the night.

The breath Graeme was unaware he held
was exhaled in a rush. “Name your price then.”

For a lengthy moment the vampire’s eyes
stayed fixed upon him before he responded. “A favor.”

Graeme frowned, the large streams of
smoke trailing from his nostrils carried away with a light wind. “A
favor?”

The vampire offered a sinister smile,
his eyes half crazed but his words surprisingly clear. “Yes. I will
deliver sweet Amarinda into your care, but only if you agree to
attend me when I call upon you.”

Graeme felt agitation slither through
his body and forced the growl that lurked in his chest to sink to
the base of his stomach. To be so summoned by a vampire, and a
mercenary vampire at that, was more than a blow to his pride.
Already he stung knowing that he could not retrieve her on his own.
Still, her safety, her place at his side as his mate meant he would
sacrifice nothing less than his life itself. The battle must have
shown a hundredfold on his face, for when he finally met the
vampire’s empty stare, it was to be greeted with a wicked grin of
victory.

“
I will be indebted to you
but once vampire,” came his husky agreement.

“
Whatever I require,” the
vampire pressed.

“
So be it.”

The shorn-haired warrior smiled
lethally into the night and bowed curtly, his eyes never leaving
Graemes'. “She will be delivered into your care on the third night
of the full moon.”

When he made to move, Graeme stopped
him. “We have not yet agreed upon a location.”

Sutter cast him a mocking glance and
turned away, presenting his back pointedly. “I will find
you.”

Then he was gone, becoming one with the
dark and the ice.

****

Rhys swung his feet off the cot and
planted them firmly on the wooden floorboards. The chill there shot
up to his thighs and he shivered. His stomach felt raw and tender,
but he managed a light repast only an hour or so before he
attempted rest. Sleep, however, was not coming anytime soon. Graeme
had yet to return from his meeting with the mercenary. He buried
his face in his hands and muttered curses to high heaven. That he
couldn’t be there to offer his protection pricked more than just
his pride. If anything happened to Graeme, he would be expected to
care for the child. Dread filled him as he cut a sideways glance to
the corner of the room where the babe slumbered. The wet nurse had
been instructed to leave him in Rhys presence when she was not
attending him. At first Rhys had protested, but Graeme did not need
to have his mind troubled while negotiating with a
vampire.

On wobbly knees he stood and wrapped
linen around his hips modestly. Four steps brought him to the
basket where the child slept snuggled beneath a coarse woven
blanket. His crop of black hair came alive in the firelight. His
skin was pink and wrinkled with dark slashes for eyebrows and
lashes that seemed ridiculously long. He was small enough to be
held from his palm to elbow comfortably. Rhys leaned forward and
inhaled, satisfied that the child held the same baby scent as the
first moments he had taken him, wet and bloody from birth, into his
arms.

It was nothing short of a miracle that
the child was alive. In a flash he recalled the fall to the rock
bed below the bridge. He recalled the sting of the cold wind’s
embrace as he fell, remembered being in so much agony he prayed for
death. Still, death would not be given to him, because just as his
back hit the solid first, he heard the distinct screams of the
baby. Amarinda screamed as well, the echo of which raised alarm
bells in his head, even as his body laid broken there. Her screams
faded to broken cries, but that of the babe only intensified, and
in some still conscious corner of his mind he recalled his promise
to Graeme. Maybe it was the fact that he was the one present at the
birthing, but determination swelled in his chest, and as the
squealing cries advanced at lightning speed, so in his last ounce
of strength, he moved. With arms wide open, the child took him to
his back once more. He could not move, was afraid it was not saved
until he felt tremors seize its tiny form. He would be cold
Amarinda had said, so he had done all that he could to keep the
child warm. The heart that thundered in his chest was swift and
strong, and he held him close until he cries were nothing but
whimpers. The next time he opened his eyes or became conscious, it
was to Graeme’s voice.