Winter's Kiss (18 page)

They were coming.

His hand itched to draw his sword. He couldn’t. If he did that, they would see him as a threat. He needed to wait and see what their reaction to him was before he did anything. If they attacked, he would retaliate in order to protect Nika and give her a chance to escape. He hoped that the werewolf stronghold that his lord had spoken of was the kind of place where guards captured strangers in their territory rather than killed them on sight.

In front of him, five werewolves broke through the low scrub, the pale moonlight outlining their bulky forms. They bounded towards him, snarling and growling. Another three broke through the trees to his right on Nika’s side, those in human form and all carrying swords.

They had left him no choice.

He smacked Demeter on the hind flank so she turned and bolted, ignored Nika’s scream of protest, drew his sword and roared at the eight werewolves hurtling towards him.

If they wanted to die, he would gladly kill them all.

Nika clung fiercely to the reins and pulled back on them. Her dagger cut into her hand. She turned the horse and snapped the reins. It whinnied and broke into a gallop towards the trees. Winter was insane. She wouldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t run away while he fought all those werewolves. None of the ones she had seen had been Willem. Were these the werewolves from the stronghold that Winter’s lord had spoken of? If they were, then she didn’t want to stay with them. She didn’t want to stay with anyone who would hurt Winter.

The horse slowed as it entered the woods but she geed it on again, determined to get to Winter and help him. A roar echoed through the trees, sending a cold chill down her spine, and her flight instinct kicked in again. It told her to run. No. It begged her to run. She ignored it and galloped onwards. Winter had roared. The snarls and growls she could hear were the werewolves. Another sound joined them, one that threatened to wrench her heart from her chest.

Swords clashing.

A branch scratched across her face and she felt the trickle of blood down her cheek, warm against her cold skin. She rode on, ducking and dodging, leading the horse as best she could at such a breakneck speed.

Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the clearing ahead and she screamed when two werewolves pounced on Winter. He lashed out with the sword, its silver blade gleaming in the moonlight as it arced towards one of the werewolves. The werewolf yelped and crashed to the ground. The other one pinned Winter to the floor. He blocked the attack with his arm, grabbing fur and holding the werewolf back as it snapped its teeth at him, trying to bite his face.

“Winter!” she screamed and tried to jump from the horse but fell instead, landing hard on the ground. The horse reared onto its hind legs and she leapt to her feet, grabbing the reins to stop it from running away. She twisted the leather straps around a nearby branch and then ran towards Winter.

He dropped his sword, drew his dagger and stabbed the werewolf in the side of the neck. It struggled with him for a moment and then dropped to the floor. Winter stood with effort and picked up his sword, holding it in one hand and the dagger in the other. He growled in her direction and she stopped dead, frozen to the spot by the dark malice on his face.

On the forest floor around him lie five dead werewolves. They looked human now. Her gaze roamed back to him. He wearily turned to face the three werewolves that had remained in human form. The largest of them stepped forwards, a man as big as a house and bare-chested. He drew a sword that looked as tall as her and grinned at Winter, revealing extended canines. Fear shook her to her core, until she trembled and couldn’t move. This man was strong. She could feel his strength from here, radiating from him in sickening waves that made her weak.

Winter roared.

The man growled.

She closed her eyes when they clashed, too frightened to watch. Their swords sung with each collision, echoing around the trees in a deadly symphony. She covered her ears and then frowned when she felt her dagger against her cheek, the cold metal awakening her fight instincts.

Her eyes shot open when Winter cried out in pain and she stared in horror as the large man hit him hard across the head with the hilt of his sword. Winter fell to the floor. He didn’t get up.

Before she could consider what she was doing, Nika flew at the man, screaming her lungs out. Rage and a desire for revenge filled her. The man stepped towards Winter and raised his sword high, as though he was going to chop off Winter’s head. She barrelled into him, snarling as she shouldered him in the stomach and knocked him backwards. He fell to the ground with a growl. In a heartbeat, she was on him, pummelling him with her right fist and trying to stab him with the dagger grasped tightly in her left. He covered himself with his arms and then grabbed her around the throat and threw her across the clearing.

Her breath left her in a painful burst when she slammed into a tree and then the floor. She shook her head to clear it and ran at the man again.

A howl broke the silence. She ignored it and kept running, raising her dagger to strike.

The man she had attacked was just standing there, waiting. The other two moved to the side
and
another man appeared in the clearing, this one wearing a black uniform. No, the man she had attacked hadn’t been waiting for her. He had been obeying this newcomer. That howl had been an order.

She set her sights on the new man, unbothered by his broad build and the long heavy sword hanging from his waist. Anyone who dared to go near Winter deserved to die. She launched herself at him but didn’t stand a chance. His fingers closed around her throat and he raised her off the ground. He disarmed her in the blink of an eye and tightened his grip on her neck. She choked and tears stung her eyes as she tried to breathe.

The man frowned at her, eyes black in the low light and long tangled threads of hair dark against his moonlit skin. He was ugly. She mustered enough strength to snarl and spit in his face. Her legs flailed and she smiled when she managed to kick him. He growled.

“You are not a vampire,” he said in English but his accent Russian.

He was hedging his bets. She spoke Russian back at him.

“Go to Hell.”

He smiled, evidently amused by her courage.

“You are not a vampire, but you travel with a vampire,” he said and nodded towards Winter. The three other men grinned and walked down into the clearing. They were going after Winter. She grasped the man’s hand where it gripped her throat and tried to prise his fingers off her. She had to get to Winter. He was unconscious. She had to protect him from these fiends. “What bloodline is your consort?”

He growled and she realised that he was commanding the other men. Her senses were all over the place, so much so that she couldn’t tell whether he had told the men to
stop
or continue. She tried to look
over
her shoulder at Winter and could just about see him out of the corner of her eye. He lie face down in the dirt, bloodied and beaten. Her heart ached to see him like that and anger filled her. She kicked the man. He choked her and then loosened his grip again. She sucked in air so cold that it burnt her sore throat.

“What bloodline?” he snarled.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, feeling strangely tired and empty. She was sure that Winter had mentioned it but she couldn’t remember now. It was hard to think. The world seemed a little dimmer. She looked at Winter again. “Winter.”

“His eyes!” the man said and she looked back him, drowsy and sluggish. “What colour are his eyes?”

“Purple,” she said and frowned when the man’s expression changed to one of remorse and he lowered her to the ground.

“A Validus,” he muttered, releasing her throat, and walked past her. She collapsed to her knees and gasped at air. The fog lifted from her mind and the world seemed bright again. “Just as the message said.”

There was a murmur from the other werewolves. She tried to stand but her legs gave again and she grimaced as she
hit
the floor. Her throat burned with each breath. He had almost strangled her. She was going to kill him. Her gaze slid to the dagger a few feet away and then to Winter’s sword where it lay a couple of metres beyond it. She crawled towards it, intent on killing the man who had tried to kill her and desiring to protect Winter.

“I humbly apologise,” the man said and she struggled against him as he lifted her from the ground and set her down on her feet. She pushed him away, snarling and glaring at him. “We have only just received word that you were to arrive and I did not have a chance to inform the guards.”

Nika dashed for the sword, grabbed it and ran straight to Winter. The sword was heavier than she had anticipated. She held it in both hands and raised it as best she could as she stood with Winter lying behind her and the four men in front.

“Keep away from us.” She glared at them all in turn, especially the one who had tried to behead
Winter
and the man who had choked her. “I swear I’ll kill you all!”

A shuffling noise from behind her made her look away from them. She fell to her knees beside Winter when she realised that he was coming around. The sword slipped from her hands, tumbling to rest on the ground.

“Winter?” she said and stroked his cheek, willing him to
wake
and
return
to her.

His eyes opened and he frowned as he pushed himself up. Her brow furrowed when she saw all the cuts on his arms and his face. Anger flared inside her again, blinding her with rage and an urge to kill.

That urge switched to something else, something indefinable. She wanted to do something. Her stomach cramped and she doubled over, clutching it and gritting her teeth against the intense burning pain that filled her. Nausea made her want to vomit and she closed her eyes as her ears rang and her bones ached.

“Nika?” Winter said and she felt his hand against her back, soothing and comforting. “What is the matter? Did they hurt you?”

She moaned when another cramp ripped her insides apart and made her burn. Winter moved and she sighed when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, his hands covering hers, and pulled her back into his body. She curled up against him, clinging to his cloak and burying her face against the hard plate of his chest armour.

“It hurts,” she whispered and then snarled when another bolt of pain hit her. “Make it stop.”

“The moon isn’t full, Mikael,” one man said.

“She’s too young to be changing,” another voice said. She didn’t recognise him.

“Changing?” she whispered with a frown. “Moon?”

She forced her head back so she could see Winter. His palm caught her cheek. The worry in his eyes made her feel terrible. He was half-dead and she was worrying him with stomach cramps. He should have been concerned about himself, not her. Whatever was wrong with her was probably nothing.

Her bones ached again.

“How old is she?” The man who had choked her this time.

“Barely a few days,” Winter said and she sighed at the sound of his voice, so comforting that it made the pain lessen. “Not old enough to be turning.”

“The one who bit her, he proclaims himself a king of werewolves, one so strong he could slay my master. His blood is strong. Perhaps strong enough that her emotions would affect her change.” “Emotions?” Winter whispered.

Anger. Rage. A desire to kill so strong that it sickened her. It was all she felt right now.

Winter’s grip on her tightened and he stroked her cheek.

“Nika, listen to me,” he said close to her ear and she nodded wearily. “I am fine. We are fine. There is no need to be upset. I need you to help me clean my wounds and we need to clean yours. You need to be calm to help me. Can you do that?”

She nodded again, wishing she could but unsure whether she was strong enough to fight the urges raging inside her. She wanted revenge. She wanted their heads. She looked at Winter through bleary eyes. He smiled at her with so much concern in his eyes that she wanted to cry, wanted to be weak again and let him take care of her. Another bone-twisting burst of pain ripped through her. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Winter’s cheek pressed against hers and she stilled, the pain ebbing away as she absorbed how wonderful it felt to have him so close. His thumb caressed her other cheek.

“Nika,” he whispered and she leaned into his cheek. “Do not do this. I will not allow them to hurt you or myself. We must tend to our wounds. We must leave the woods before Willem comes. I cannot let him have you.”

Those words shocked life back into her. Willem was coming for her. In his current state, Winter wouldn’t be able to protect her. She didn’t want Willem to take her. She didn’t want Winter to die. She knew both of those things would happen if they didn’t leave this place and go with the werewolves to the safety of the stronghold. Her heart rate slowed and she buried her face into Winter’s neck, her arms looping around it and holding him. He placed one arm around her back and slid the other underneath her legs. She frowned and then her eyebrows rose when he lifted her off the ground and stood.

His eyes spoke of pain when she looked into them. He was hurting himself carrying her like this.