Over the past few days, he’d spent countless hours running through the events leading up to the attack, yet struggled to find where he’d gone wrong. What had he missed? What sign hadn’t he seen? Who even knew he’d taken Carina as his mistress and traveled through the Bridal Lands? No matter what avenues his mind explored, the paths eventually converged into two possibilities…Marissa and King McKay. Since Regin seemed to be motivated by wealth, sending a messenger to kill an asset didn’t make for a fiscally sound decision. By default that left Marissa. According to Caden, the messenger hadn’t worn any colors to identify whose authority he rode under, but the more Marek mulled over the possibilities the more convinced he was of Marissa’s betrayal.
Thinking of Carina rekindled the ache in his chest, a dull, persistent beating thrum acting as a reminder that she’d almost been killed because of his arrogance. Somehow the attack was his fault, his responsibility. He’d been too complacent and self-assured, and several good men were dead as a result. The weight of their deaths pressed down on his shoulders, a burden he would live with forever. He should’ve been more diligent, should have seen the signs. Because in addition to his men, he’d almost lost the only person who excited and intrigued him—who encouraged him to see the world as if it was new again.
He stared into the fire. A growing discomfort wrapped cold fingers around his heart. He’d been away from her for too long. The now familiar disquiet would build into a crescendo and finally drive him back to her side just so he could trace his fingers through her hair and find reassurance in the steady cadence of her breathing.
Looking back, he should’ve never allowed Marissa’s accusations to sway the way he had treated Carina. He’d used Marissa’s words as an excuse to keep Carina beside him at night, letting his selfishness guide his actions. He should’ve been stronger and showed Carina the respect she deserved as a person, and warranted as his mistress.
He shut out the world around him by dropping his head into his hands. The Gods had given him a second chance and he would not fail her again. An odd idea sprang into his mind echoing Caden’s earlier comment. Just why had he chosen her? He closed his eyes, remembering dinner at McKay’s castle—Carina standing alone at the window and his overwhelming desire to go to her. Had he actually chosen Carina? Or had
he
been chosen for
her
? He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts muddling his mind, but they persisted. Was he destined to find her?
When the healer had spoken of Carina’s recovery, a glimmer of hope had sprung from his heart that maybe he could make amends, because ultimately the questions badgering him were unimportant. The only question requiring an answer was whether she’d forgive him.
Sampson interrupted his thoughts by plopping down on the log beside him. Sampson stared into the fire a few moments before speaking so quietly that only he could hear. “Sire, I don’t mean to discuss relations with you, but I think this mixed blood is clouding your judgment.”
Although Marek welcomed Sampson’s honesty, this time his captain had stepped on a gaping wound, sparking his anger. “What in Criton’s breath are you saying?” He grunted in satisfaction when Sampson’s eyes widened.
Sampson stared at his boots, but spoke after a resigned exhale. “The only way you’ll know for sure whether she’s pure is when you first enter her. Maybe the guilt you feel is unjustified.”
Marek fisted his hands and tamped down the wave of anger threatening to burst into a hurricane. No matter how close they were as boys, Sampson had gone way beyond the boundaries of friendship.
“I’ve noticed you treat her differently. Is that because of what I told you?”
Sampson shrugged. “I’m not sure a mixed breed is worthy of you in the first place, but she definitely doesn’t deserve the life you offer if she’s impure.”
Marek spoke through clenched teeth, and willed his hands not to clobber the man sitting beside him. “I should’ve never told you. Leave me.”
Sampson disappeared into the darkness and once again he sat alone with just his thoughts to pester him.
Talbrec, a young soldier assigned to Carina’s tent, rushed into the firelight. Seeing the boy’s ashen face and panicked eyes stopped his heart.
“Sire, she’s gone.” Talbrec moaned. “I went to relieve myself and saw the tent open when I returned. I checked inside and—”
Marek pushed Talbrec out of the way and raced for the tent, followed by those who had overheard the boy’s confession.
When Marek stepped inside and noticed Carina’s empty mat, the air rushed from his lungs. He turned to the soldiers standing outside. “Wake the men, grab torches. She couldn’t have gone far, unless someone took her.” His eyes drilled into Talbrec. The boy’s entire body shook with fear. Instead of grabbing the lad by the throat and strangling him until he breathed no more, Marek somehow retained some self-control.
“Bring Caden to me. I want to know if he had anything to do with this.”
“There’s no need to find me,” Caden answered as he approached with his two guards. “And, no, I didn’t take her. What fool left her unattended?”
“How dare you.” Sampson stormed past Marek, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. “I’ll teach you a lesson on respect.”
“Sampson, stay your blade,” Marek commanded. “Carina is our first priority. Once she’s found then you two can see who pisses the farthest.”
The men trampled any evidence of Carina’s track forcing them to organize a search pattern. Because of the late hour, Luna had already coaxed her son into the sky, illuminating the land in an eerie, blue-white light.
Marek assessed his options. Where would she go?
The men dispersed into the woods, their torches bobbing up and down like mystical fairy globes. With everyone scouring the forest, he decided to search the clearing and exposed areas.
He hurried toward the grove of trees where the Critons were bedded knowing he could cover more ground on Critonback. But when he reached the animals a threatening growl brought him to an abrupt halt. FireStrike stood with his teeth bared, head low, and ears pinned back in a challenging posture.
“Easy FireStrike,” he soothed. Although FireStrike relaxed at the sound of his voice, Marek approached the Criton with caution. Why had FireStrike reacted so strangely? He spied his answer when he drew close enough to identify the huddled mass his Criton protected. Curled up in a tight ball with her arms wrapped around her body in a feeble attempt to keep warm, lay his precious Carina.
He ran his hand down FireStrike’s neck to reassure the animal before kneeling beside her. The moonlight bathed her in a deathly glow like she’d already slipped from this world to the next. He clamped his mouth shut to prevent a moan from slipping past his lips, and held his breath for an agonizing moment until his hand acknowledged the faint pulse thumping in her neck. At his touch, her eyes fluttered open and widened in panic.
His grip tightened when she tried to pull away. “Carina, it’s me,” he soothed. She stilled at his voice and started to cry.
“I’m here,” he whispered, taking off his duster and wrapping it around her before gathering her in his arms. He hissed at her chilled body. “What were you thinking?” he reprimanded softly knowing now was not the time, but so grateful at finding her, he couldn’t help himself.
Her teeth chattered nonstop as he nestled her against his chest. “I’m ssorrry,” she slurred. “Sooo, ssorrry.”
Her crying tore at his heart. “Shh,” he murmured. Mindful of her wound, he carried her back toward camp. Talbrec met him halfway and held a torch overhead, providing light to traverse through the brambles and exposed roots beneath the closely clumped trees.
He entered the tent and lowered her onto the mat before piling blankets on top of her. “Find the healer,” he commanded, hoping the anxiety in his voice had gone unnoticed. Her blue lips and the tremors racking her body filled him with apprehension. And by the time the healer entered, he could no longer wake her.
“Move,” the healer ordered, pushing Marek out of the way. Lifting the blankets, he checked her wound before glancing at Marek.
“She’s unharmed, but her temperature is too low.”
Desperation flooded his body. “I’ll send for more blankets.”
The healer shook his head. “She needs more than blankets. Take off your clothes and lie beside her.”
“What?”
He couldn’t believe his ears. He’d just vowed to treat Carina following the mandates dictated by protocol and now the healer wanted him to break that promise.
“If we’re lucky, your body heat combined with the blankets will warm her.”
Marek could see the resignation on the healer’s face. After everything she’d been through, even his healer didn’t believe she would live.
“Get out,” he snapped.
The healer disappeared through the tent flap.
He pushed his mat beside hers and stripped out of his leathers. Keeping his lower half clothed, he pulled off his shirt before slipping underneath the blankets. He pressed the entire length of his body against hers. Ignoring the shiver that traveled up his spine when his body touched her icy skin, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into his chest.
“You will not die,” he muttered, trusting that the pile of blankets and his body heat would warm her. “I won’t allow it.”
25 – BRINK of DEATH
Carina remembered the searing cold. Looking back, she realized leaving the tent in just her undergarments wasn’t one of her brightest moments. But at the time, her only motivation was to get away so she wouldn’t hurt Marek anymore. Nothing else could penetrate the bitter numbness that had enveloped her mind. Shuffling through the trees, her body had felt like she’d fallen into a glacier fed creek, the dark water deadening her nerves and lulling her into a false sense of security.
She stumbled through the forest, indifferent to the small rocks and sharp pine needles pricking her feet, viewing each tree she clutched as a small personal victory before hobbling to the next. Focusing on her slow progress, she had noticed nothing around her until the glow of FireStrike’s eyes stabbed her in the darkness.
She stopped to offer FireStrike a small farewell, thinking it’d almost be like saying good-bye to Marek, but didn’t take into account her legs would buckle or how wonderful the frozen ground would feel after her collapse. Deciding to rest a few minutes before moving on was her last memory of being outside.
Her feet, especially her toes, throbbed painfully. But other than that, she basked in a warm cocoon. She nuzzled into the warmth and sighed, enjoying the weight of his arm draped over her.
To her regret, she must have awakened him because he called out her name, his velvet voice cascading over her. Instead of answering, she burrowed farther into his neck. He responded by unfurling his body from around her, and she groaned in disapproval.
“Carina,” he murmured again, his voice soft but demanding.
Irritated at the change in her sleeping arrangement, she rolled onto her back and refused to open her eyes. He shifted and leaned over her. His hand settled on her stomach and gently shook her.
“Wake up.”
She kept her eyes shut, but her lips curved upward in a traitorous smile.
His breath along her neck caused her heart to thump in an erratic rhythm. “Obey me, Carina McKay.”
His baritone voice seeped into her skin, commanding a response. She opened her eyes to view the most handsome man she’d ever seen, staring at her. When he smiled, he stole her breath away.
“Thank the Gods,” he sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “How do you feel?”
She considered his question. “I was sleeping.” Her voice sounded raspy from disuse.
“Except for your unexpected journey into the woods last night, you’ve been asleep for the last few days. The sun has just set again.”
“You woke me.”
His lips tipped into a soft smile as he brushed the hair from her face. “Etiquette would prevent me from lying beside you.”
Seeing the concern in his eyes, she pressed her hand against his cheek. “Since when have we followed etiquette?”
He reached for her hand and kissed it. Mesmerized, she watched his lips whisper against her palm, spurring uncontrollable shivers within her.
“Please, tell me you’re all right.”
“I’m tired and sore, but okay.”
Her smile faltered when his face hardened and the grey flecks speckled throughout his brilliant, green eyes bore into her. “Then tell me why in the name of the Gods you left this tent last night.”
Although her body remained still, inside she squirmed in discomfort. What could she say? She considered a cowardly maneuver by overplaying her exhaustion and asking they talk later, but from his firm expression knew her ploy would be useless.
Like a bandage best removed with a fast tug, she spoke in one long, rushed breath. “The Tiwans attacked because they believe I’m a Dark Caller. I thought if I left they’d go after me and you’d be able to get away without losing more men.” Although she couldn’t muster the courage to look into his eyes, relief washed through her for confessing her burden.
An uncomfortable silence engulfed the tent in an impenetrable bubble, not even the night sounds erupting from the forest outside could break through the thick stillness. Marek shadowed above her, his hand once again covering her stomach. She cringed, knowing he must despise her now that he knew the truth.