The Sanction (2 page)

The cool winds soothe the heat of her
flesh and closed her eyes comfortably, taking in the familiar
scents of the forest. The first chill of autumn was in the air, but
it did not show in the beauty of the landscape. The carriage jerked
and she shifted, and caught a glimpse of Vilirus. He rode expertly,
his body held light, thighs bulging beneath the trousers. From a
child he cared for her. She recalled their many arguments, recalled
too the times when he had confessed of being tired of waiting, of
the unknown. Females were always mated. Not so for males. Upon
making their first kill, they assume the role of a Hunter and
dedicate the rest of their lives to eliminating the Lost and
defending themselves and their territory against werewolves. It
grieved him that someday, if he did not find a mate to keep him
grounded, he too would become Lost. It was the curse of the
vampire.

He caught the contemplative stare and
turned away to scan the surrounding trees before he spoke. "What
are your thoughts? You look sad."

She shook her head and offered a
reassuring smile. "Tis nothing worth speaking of."

He studied her again and nodded before
kicking the mount into a trot and disappearing to the front of the
carriage. Eyes heavy, she pulled the blind closed and rested her
head upon the shoulder of her mother. A gloved hand caressed her
cheek, and a kiss of affection was pressed upon her
brow.

Maybe it was minutes or hours later,
she did not know, that someone shook her awake violently. Shocked
out of slumber, she sat erect and looked to her mother’s pale face.
Her father was already out of the carriage. Amalea’s icy hand
clutched onto hers. A finger was held to her slightly parted lips.
She nodded understanding.

In the still of the night, she cocked
her head and strained to listen. Her mother too, was listening
intently. Amarinda heard nothing save her racing heart and their
heavy breaths. One of the horses snickered and pranced, causing the
carriage to rock gently. “Mother?”

An eerie howl sent a rivulet of terror
down her spine. Amarinda clenched onto her mother’s arm and froze
in shock. A series of guttural growls strummed the air and
reverberated along her nerve endings. There were no voices and no
screams. She recognized the distinctive hum of steel as a sword was
unsheathed. She heard the cry of agony that could only have been
Alastair, mere seconds before the entire carriage was pushed
violently off its wheels. It careened over, knocking both women
onto their backs and against the opposite side. Amalea cried out in
agony as the door was shoved in off its hinges and connected with
her arm.

“
Mama!”

“
The door!” her mother
cried, eyes moist with tears.

Spurned into action, Amarinda struggled
to gain her footing awkwardly and hitched the skirts of her dress
around her knees. With all of her might, she pushed the dented door
out and off of her mother’s wounded arm.

The woman’s eyes blazed in rage and
pain. She was out of the carriage in a flash. Amarinda, trembling,
poked her head through the door space above. A cry stuck in her
throat. The men that attacked were larger than any she had ever
seen. They towered well over six feet and were built like oxen,
moving swiftly, powerfully, with eyes that flamed golden in the
night.

“
Get behind me!” She heard
her father’s voice command her raging mother. The woman did not
hesitate as she grabbed Amarinda’s hand and hoisted her up and out
with superhuman strength. She was dragged brutally into the
clearing. Everything happened in a blurred second. One moment she
was running toward her father and sibling, and the next something
heavy took them into the moist ground. Stunned, she blinked dirt
from her eyes. Several feet before her, her mother stood facing the
beast, her fangs bared and dangerous.

Amarinda’s knees weakened even as she
stood erect. Her head spun. She touched her pounding forehead and
discovered it moist. She looked at her stained fingers stupidly.
She had never before seen her own blood. A snarl echoed behind her.
Before she could command her feet to move, a powerful arm
compressed the air out of her lungs. With a scream lodged in her
throat she watched, stunned, the attack upon her mother.

Through the thin air, Vilirus appeared.
The sword he wielded was like lightening in the starlight. In a
flash the head of the monster was completely severed from its body.
Thank the fates he had saved their mother! But Amarinda did not
house any sentiment of victory. Fear filled her. She heard her
father bellow her name, and watched the shock and rage register on
her brothers’ face, but she could not scream. The sounds that
escaped her gaping lips were choked out dry puffs of
air.

The large arm snaked around her midriff
squeezed until she could not breathe. Her father advanced, but not
before she was whisked away from their sight, taken into the dark
woods. She struggled to breathe, struggled to hold on to her
consciousness, but each time she wriggled, the tighter the
vise-like grip became.

Thankfully, everything went
black.

Chapter Two

The Grampian Mountains, Scotland,
Winter – 1017 AD

A drop of water splashed upon the back
of her neck. Amarinda groaned in anguish and sniffed to dislodge
the stench that assailed her nostrils. Taking shallow breaths, she
braved to crack her heavy eyes open. Another drop found its way
down the nape of her neck and into the depths of her torn bodice.
She whimpered at the icy contact against her skin and looked around
in wide-eyed panic. From her sprawled position on the floor, she
could see the large, iron bars that imprisoned her in the stone
room three feet away. A torch burned brilliantly on a far wall.
Sitting upon a crude chair was a man. His chin touched his chest
and a length of dirty hair concealed most of his face.

She pushed herself to a sitting
position and scuttled closer to the gate, her heart pounding
erratically in her chest. Numb fingers clutched onto the bars and
she opened her mouth to speak. Nothing but a dry croak came out.
The guard lifted his head and met her eyes. Amarinda gasped and
whimpered in fear. Feral eyes observed her. He shouted something
toward a half opened door in words she did not comprehend. There
was a shuffle. Moments later, two other men joined him. She backed
away as quickly as her stiff limbs carried her. They considered her
for a long time, looking at her as something odd. Their voices were
deep and gruff as they conferred with each other.

Holding her hands together, she brought
her knees to her chin, wanting to make herself as small as
possible. She had heard the stories the Hunters brought back with
them. The sheltered life her parents tried to give her had always
been shadowed by this fear – that Weres would find and kill her. As
a female-born vampire, she was, for want of a better word,
indispensable. Most vampires born were male, and whenever fate
decided to grace the Covens with a female, she was well protected
for the mere fact that through her, a pure bloodline could be
established.

Amarinda was the first female vampire
to be born into the Cronus Coven, the youngest of several siblings
and the apple of her family’s eye. If she lived to see another
evening, she swore never to make fun of her brother’s call
again.

One of the Weres left the room only to
return a moment later with another. They all reeked of dirty dog.
The newcomer inserted a large, rusted key into the gate. With
strength borne solely of determination, she stood. He showed no
hesitation when he stepped into the room. She did not break his
gaze - not when he cautiously approached, not when he cocked his
head peculiarly to one side, not when he sniffed the air slowly,
deliberately.

Had it been her mother or her
grandmother captured, Amarinda knew that they would have faced
whatever fate these monsters administered with pride. Tears would
not have fallen from their eyes. They would not have begged mercy.
She stiffened her spine. These beasts had attempted to kill her
family. Her beautiful mother might be dead for all she knew, and
her father and brother…

She pushed down the hurt that
threatened to cripple her and lifted her chin. If she must die,
then it would be a noble death. She would not shame her Coven by
groveling like a coward. Her observer issued a command, and another
stepped forward, shackles in hand. Her intake of breath made her
nostrils flare. They circled her like wolves moving in for the
kill.

He looked pointedly at her fisted hands
and lifted the shackles. She silently, stoically obeyed and
followed him through the iron gates. The guard snorted and spat
inches away from her dirty hem. Amarinda flinched. It took all of
her self-control not to back away from his intimidating frame.
Through the door and down a narrow hall they went. In the dark she
observed the crudely cut walls, shocked to see that it was made
entirely of stone. It seemed to have been carved out of a solid
mountain.

They continued on, passing more than a
few Weres on the way. They looked like men to the average eye, but
she could clearly distinguish the stench of beast that lingered in
their veins. Nauseated, she parted her lips to breathe. At the end
of the winding hallway a large door was opened. She was pushed into
a spacious chamber that housed only a few, all of them dirty and
bruised. Her eyes were momentarily blinded by the many torches that
lined the wall.

Their leader, standing in the center of
the room with three men at his flank and another two at his left,
was just as dirty and just as bruised, but it was the depth of his
burnt honey gaze that numbed her stiff. Her gasp of alarm and agony
echoed. She felt her heart beat an unnatural staccato in her chest,
felt him sear her with just one sweeping look, and noted that he
too, seemed to still in her presence. For a brief moment,
incredulity registered on his face, only to be replaced by a wicked
sneer.

She swallowed hard and fought the urge
to surrender to the threat display. She had a hard time finding her
valor now, for in that moment, beneath the stench of wet dog, was
the one scent that left her mute and physically weak. A mate?
Amongst wolves?! Surely the fates were mistaken! Surely this man,
this monster was not the one chosen for her!

She faced him, heart wrenching as he
made a calculated approach, considering her like some ill-gotten
disease. Her nostrils flared as he walked slow circles around her.
By the fates, he smelled divine! Awareness stroked her senses
alive, and she shuddered in delight and repulsion. Amarinda forced
her spine to straighten and lifted her chin to mask the fear and
confusion that warred within her chest. When he finally stood
before her, she met his eyes and was near knocked off her feet by
the impact of the fury she saw there. A pair of thick, dark
eyebrows deepened into a frightful scowl, and he sniffed as if he
scented something foul. Despite her resolve, her cheeks flushed in
humiliation. Still, anger replaced the sting of rejection. That
anger fueled her tongue. “Don’t you see something you like,
mongrel?”

His cold eyes whiplashed her into
silence. She dared not swallow the lump in her throat lest he
pounced on her fear. And she did fear him. He stood well over six
feet tall, and was incredibly wide. Everything about him spelt
danger and death. How Amarinda supported her weight beneath her
watery knees she did not know.

“
Spoken like a true vampire
whore,” he stated with loathing. His voice rumbled through her like
warm fingers, making her shudder anew.

“
Better a vampire whore than
a mongrel’s bitch!”

The contact she made to the cold, hard
floor was swift and harsh. Astonished, she pressed a trembling hand
to her abused cheek. The breaths she took were deep, and for a
shocked moment she did nothing but gawk at the rough stone hewn
beneath her pale hand. Never in her life had anyone dared lay a
hand on her! And now, to be so abused by this common
dog!

She stood up in a flash. Her swift
retaliation was anticipated, and he sidestepped her attack with
nothing but a snicker. One large hand clutched onto her neck and he
lifted her well off the ground. Amarinda grasped helplessly at his
wrist, struggling to breathe as he applied pressure to her delicate
throat. Tears stung her eyes, and she met his steady gaze, noted
the contorted features of his face and listened to the roar of
blood thunder through her veins. Every second echoed in her ear
now. She became aware of the rate at which her heart sped. She
heard the soft, choking noises she made as she struggled to force
air into her lungs. She felt, with renewed awareness, the sharp
pains the seized her chest. She would die, she thought. She would
die here, and that too, at the hand of her mate. The thought was
ludicrous, of course. The mate that should have been chosen for her
would see himself killed before hurting her. That was the vampire
way, after all. But he did not know her heritage. And he was no
vampire.

Unexpectedly, she was released. She
fell heavily and had not the strength to look up. Racked by dry
coughs, she gasped for breath, vaguely aware that they were now the
center of attention to many more that had somehow gathered to
witness the scene. “My – my father will come – for me,” she heard
herself wheeze painfully. She pushed her weak form away from the
sight of his fur boots until the harsh wall met her back. “He will
bring – the Hunters and – and slaughter all of you!”