 
The Sanction

By Reeyce Smythe Wilder

Copyright 2018 by Mellissa Lopez St. Louis

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter One

Northumbria, Autumn - 1071

Amarinda Cronus shifted impatiently as her father waited to pay his respects to the Elder. The night air was chilled and she did not enjoy having to brave the cold for the sake of telling the old man good bye. Dozens of the Coven families were gathered on the green, their voices blending into a drone hum as they said their farewells. Behind them, against the backdrop of the undulating hills and a fierce full moon, the Cronus Coven stood. Built three hundred years before her birth, the Elder had told her of the battles won and lost within those walls, and of the heartache the very stone had witness as testament to their struggle for survival.

Amarinda considered the many Hunters that mingled with distant relations. For them, tonight marked the third annual meeting held at the manse to discuss the various threats and strategies they would employ to ensure their safety. Everyone had heard of the attack upon Boris Vyacheslav and his family one month prior to this meeting. One of his sons, a young Hunter who had been initiated only seven moons ago, had been careless, and had taken for himself an even younger girl as his lover. The Covens enforced strict rules against fraternizing with humans, especially since the girl in question had not yet seen her seventeenth birthday. The young Vyacheslav believed himself in love she had heard it said, and was foolish enough to entrust himself to her. In doing so, he had betrayed not only his Coven, but his kind. It was quite by accident their liaisons were discovered, that too by a Hunter. Vyacheslav earned himself the whip – thirty lashes as ordered by the Council. And the girl?

Amarinda shuddered at the thought, for it was rumored that the family of three was dealt with swiftly and quietly as not to arouse further suspicion. As it stood now, there was vast concern amongst the Covens, for the Hunters no longer looked for the rare vampire female as a potential mate, but to the over-abundant supply of humans. Amarinda would have scoffed at the idea the way the Elder was wont to if her very own mother did not walk into the Coven a human herself. Amalea Cronus was the only known female to survive the ritual that transformed her into a vampire. It was unheard of, the union of a vampire and a human. Such a thing could not be accomplished. But her mother and father had proved the naysayers wrong. To add insult to injury, Amarinda was born – the first female offspring of the Cronus Coven. There was much joy, for a female born child was a very rare thing among the vampire race. Amarinda was proud to be the only granddaughter of the Elder. She was doted upon and spoilt, and became a sore in his side only when the unmated Hunters sought his permission to branch out on their own and seek mates the way her father did.

She considered her parents beside her as they whispered words and thought that, amongst all the Hunters present on this night, it was unfortunate she had yet to find a mate. Or maybe, just maybe her fate was entwined with a human as well.

She frowned at the idea and tore her eyes away from her parents to individually scrutinize the Hunters close by. Her mother's voice interrupted her musings.

"The Elder should be here any minute now. Why don't you head back to the carriage and rest? Your father and I will be with you shortly."

She turned and hurried off, her arms hugged about her body against the frost of the night. Their family crest was easily distinguished amongst the rest of the carriages. She made quick work of the distance between the gathering and the parked carriages. With each hasty step, she felt the loose stones penetrate in the soft soles of the slippers she had taken to wearing. During the ball, the pinch of her heeled shoes had been too much.

Wincing, she continued relentlessly toward the dark carriage. As soon as she jerked the door open, she sensed a presence in the shadows. A tiny gasp was torn from her throat before she recognized the bemused smile on her brothers' face.

"Vilirus!" She pressed a hand to the flutter in her chest and exhaled heavily.

"Do not die of apoplexy on my account wee one," he joked, his voice yet to hold a note of humor. "Why are you here, away from the crowd?" She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly recalling the reason for her haste. The Elder's eye was as sharp as the swords the Hunters brandished. She did not want her escape to be observed. Vilirus sighed gently. "Grandfather inquired about you at the meeting. Maybe you should see him before you go into hiding."

She stepped into the warmth of the vehicle. "He is the reason I am hiding. Besides, he shall see me at the Midsummer's ball."

Vilirus smirked at the agitation he read in her flashing eyes. "What's the matter? Still upset no one signed your dance card?"

She pulled her brows into a tight frown. "Don't be absurd."

"Then why the long face?"

"I am tired, cold and hungry. Do I need another reason?"

In a flash he slipped the cloak from his back and presented it to her. She snuggled in its warmth and glanced toward the gathering once more. "How long could it possibly take to wish the old fart goodbye?"

Vilirus's eyes hardened faintly, though the smile he presented stayed. "Father has warned you about your impertinence. If anyone were to hear you disrespect the Elder, you would not be spared."

She considered him standing there in the dark and sighed. Vilirus was a Hunter. A little over a century, he had taken an oath, like so many of the other unmated males, to protect the Coven at the cost of his very life if need be. His loyalty was to his family and his kind.

"Forgive me," she muttered, as insincere as he knew she would be. "I am cranky and long to get going."

He nodded at her apology and jerked his head up when his father called out his name. As he strode away, she exhaled with a huff, and pulled the cloak closer to her body. It smelled of wine and cigars, and she felt protected, wrapped in his scent. Apart from her father and brother, Amarinda had never been left alone in the presence of another male. Even now as she considered the Hunters, she wondered if any amongst them was her mate. The thrill at finding the one that would belong to her was the only reason she had agreed to come to the quarterly meeting at the manse. It was customary that all the covens report any matter of urgency to the Elder at that time. Amarinda was never bothered with the details of such affairs, for it was the men who undertook them. Tonight had been for her.

Unfortunately, the hope of finding her mate amongst the dozens of vampires, young and old alike was shattered. She was yet young, her mother had told her in a vain attempt to placate her ruffled feathers. Her initial disappointment did not last long, for the Hunters were all attractive and eyed her with longing. She determined that she would dance and enjoy their company, flirt outrageously and earn herself a hearty rebuke from her parents before returning home to her mundane life. Or that was her plan, until the Elder directed his murderous stare toward everyone who dared approached her. After the first offer at a dance that was rudely cut short by her father, they had all kept to themselves. It was a heavy burden to bear, being the only grand-daughter of the Elder himself.

Restless, she leaned forward and looked at the group once more, thankful that her parents drew near. The coachman hobbled quickly toward the vehicle, and yanked the door open with little finesse. His dimming eyes met hers and he gaped in surprise, not expecting to find her within.

"Forgive me Miss Cronus, but had I known you were coming back to the carriage so soon, I would have been here to receive you."

She smiled at his wrinkled face. "I can open a door myself, Alastair. There is no need to worry."

He doffed his hat and grinned a toothless grin. By the time her parents joined her, she was more than ready to leave. One by one the closed carriages that were parked ahead were occupied with the members of the different coven families. A few moments later the definite sound of whips cracking the air could be heard.

Amarinda identified each Coven's crest as the carriages made their way down the drive and onto the lighted roadway. The large, cast iron gates opened onto the gently sloping plains. At the intersection, each vehicle took predestined routes. She craned her neck to see the lights of the manse fade until they were naught but specks in the distance. For two miles the grassland stretched, then forest rose up against the starlit sky. She caught a glimpse of her brother on horseback as he galloped beside the vehicle. Her mother touched her arm gently.

"The Elder seemed disappointed that you did not wish to accept his invitation to stay through the fall," Amalea informed.

Amarinda grimaced visibly. "There is nothing to do here. I would be confined to the manse with only grandmother for company. I'd die of boredom."

"You were very fond of him as a child," she continued, amused.

"That was before I grew breasts and discovered that there are more interesting things to do than listen to the histories of the Covens."

Her mother's scandalized gasped did not deter her, for she shared a secret smile with her amused father who had yet to speak. "I don't know where I went wrong with you. Your tongue is -"

"Now sweetheart," Macer, her father, rescued tenderly. "As I recall, your tongue was just as unruly – one of the many reasons I fell in love with you."

She clamped her mouth shut and fought the blush that stained her cheek. Amarinda smiled and turned to look outside once again. That was the kind of love she hoped to one day have. Her father had been three hundred and nine when he found her mother. Tall and lightly muscled, he boasted the thick obsidian hair and ethereal sky blue eyes that was the trade mark of the Cronus Coven. Lines had begun to show around his smiling lips, a testament to his five hundred years. The cane he held was gripped lightly with long, strong fingers. Within it, a rapier was concealed.

She stole a glance at her mother who resigned herself to relax against the plush cushions. Her husky voice spoke softly of the events at the gathering. Amalea was an exquisite beauty. Thick red hair was pulled tightly upon the top of her head in a neat chignon away from her slender neck and face. Wide bottle green eyes, bright and expressive, twinkled when she laughed or flashed when angry. Whatever her mood, she always managed to maintain the decorum that classed her as not only the mate of a vampire, but a countess of the Coven. Maybe it was the way she cocked her head to consider an idea during a conversation, or the way her eyes fell in submission when submission was needed, but the Elder had taken a small liking to her when she was presented to him after she had been mated to her father.

Her beauty notwithstanding, she was not accepted with arms wide open. And even when the Council agreed to the option of having her changed, it was not without a price. The tattoo of shame on the flesh of her husband haunted her. Amarinda noticed it throughout the years, the agony in her eyes when she thought no one was aware. But her father always seemed to know what nightmares plagued her. Their troubles only brought them closer together, their bond strengthening with each passing year.

As their voices droned on, she thought about her own future. Amarinda had just turned forty seven - a babe by vampire standards. She was constantly reminded that it had taken many more than a hundred years to find a mate, like her father for instance, and thought if she had to exercise such inexhaustible patience, she would no doubt die.

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 – 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!"

Her prediction did not fall on deaf ears. Low murmurs swept through the room long before she heard him command their ear. "She lies," he offered nonchalantly. "Hunters do not hail from such a small coven as hers."

She blinked several times to bring his towering frame into focus. He stood confident, looking down his nose at her, snarling.

"You are wrong, mongrel," she said softly, struggling to her feet. Her face flushed, for the dress she wore was tattered and torn, and she had been stripped of her stockings and shoes. "I am Amarinda Cronus – and my family will see you butchered for what you have done!"

At the mention of her name, silence reigned. She noted with satisfaction the slight panic that flashed in his eyes before it was masked once again with bitter resentment. "If I must die, then it will not be in vain," he stung swiftly. "Rhys!"

At his bark, another man stepped forward. He was not as tall as her captor, but was fiercely attractive. He did not meet her eyes when he stood at her side.

"Ready the whipping post," he commanded stonily, his eyes not once swaying from her direct gaze. "At dawn, we execute her."

****

They came for her just before first light. Amarinda sat regally, waiting. She had spent the majority of the night fighting the urge to scream her fear and frustration, but the guards at the gate would have enjoyed seeing her come undone. Already they taunted her with lewd comments; already the sound of them rattling the bars of the cage was enough to send her over the edge and into the abyss of panic.

When they opened the gate, she stood slowly, dreading what was to come. Still, she would not beg for mercy from these beasts. She would lift her face to the sun and keep her lips clamped shut. They would not get the satisfaction of seeing her grovel.

Even as the Were named Rhys gestured for her to be shackled, she recounted in her mind the bits and pieces of stories told by the Hunters about the battles they had won and lost. She may not have been trained with the sword, but vampire blood coursed through her veins. Royal blood flowed within her. In the moments to come, she would die like a true Cronus female – with her pride intact.

They led her down darkened corridors until they came to a large dome, dug straight out from the mountain. Around them, only a few were present. They sat wearing bear skins to ward off the chill of the morning air. Amarinda felt their resentment toward her with each look she received, but kept her face void of emotion. To the center of the dome, a stone post stood, tall and steady. One of the Weres clutched onto her elbow and dragged her forward. She wrenched her arm away and cast him an icy stare.

"My feet work well enough beast! There is no need for your assistance."

She could sense his anger at having been dismissed, and quickly made her way to the whipping post before he retaliated with his fist. Once there, she summoned the courage to blink away the panic that threatened to engulf her. She sniffed the wind. It was sweet and heavy with the odor of autumn. Beside her, someone moved. Amarinda did not flinch when Rhys attached the chains of her already shackled hands to a third clasp that was embedded into the stone. As the irons clanked, her heart beat a little faster. She took a quick glance above her head and then to the east. Already, the sky was blushed in hues of pink.

She leaned against the post, hating that her feet were weak from fear. A few yards in front of her, he stood stiffly. She met his gaze with open repulsion. Rhys went to stand at his side. In silence, they waited.

Amarinda saw the sky brighten. The first rays of sunlight touched the uppermost part of the post. Second by painstaking second it descended. She squinted against the sting in her eyes from the brilliant glare, and felt her pores suck in the warmth of the birthing day. Courageously, she lifted her face and waited. The smart of tears formed behind her heavy lids. Was she a coward that she could not stare into the face of death? She swallowed hard. She had no more courage to give.

What she had expected when the shaft of light hit her, she did not fully know, but the feather-soft brush of warmth caressing her flesh was not it. Stunned, she opened her eyes and lifted her chained hands as though they were unfamiliar. Dust particles floated everywhere. She swept her hand through the almost microscopic specks and allowed the tears to spill down her face. Movement demanded her attention, and her awe vanished long enough to register exactly what had happened. She stood, unflinching beneath the dawn.

The Weres were out of their seats, confusion and horror crossing their faces as they spoke in panicked voices amongst themselves. He, however, considered her with a mixture of dread and... relief? In a flash his expression was shuttered and he barked a command. Despite her resolve, she flinched. Something was said to Rhys who moved to obey. She was unshackled and removed from their presence, forced back through the narrow halls until they came to a less populated part of the stronghold. Here, light streamed in through every available window. Up a winding staircase they went until her legs ached with protest. She stumbled upon the dirty hem of her gown and was hauled to her feet. Rhys did not miss a step. At the end of a narrow hall, a heavy wooden door was pushed open and she was released at its entrance.

Amarinda sucked in one breath on the threshold and spun around to flee just as quickly. Her nose made contact with a muscled mass of chest. Stunned, she watched stupidly as Rhys blocked the doorway with his large form. The cold glint in his eyes forced her to turn around. Hesitant, she stepped forward.

The chamber reeked of him. She pushed away the nausea that threatened to consume her and made it all of five steps before his voice thundered upon his entrance.

"What form of witch-craft have you blood-suckers wielded that the sun has no effect on you?!"

She stiffened and turned to meet his fury. Behind him, Rhys stood guard. "The same kind that turns you into animals whenever you will it!"

"How many more are there like you? Are there Hunters with the same ability?"

She kept her mouth shut. His nostril flared at the challenge. Let them assume the worst. His eyes did not break contact with hers, and she felt him peel away the layers of mettle she had so carefully spent the night putting into place.

"We should alert the men," Rhys offered calmly, "just in case."

"There are no more," he announced with decisiveness. For a split second she recoiled, and he offered a self-satisfied smile. She swallowed unwillingly. "If there were, the Hunters would have been here already." He spun around on his heel and stormed away. Rhys closed the door and bolted it from the outside.

Amarinda crumpled to her knees, her strength sapped. She drew deep ragged breaths and allowed the tears she so adamantly held at bay to fall. What would happen to her now? She looked up at the sunlight that streamed through the window and struggled to her feet. She flung the window opened and gasped. The sun was indeed warm, soaking into her skin, heating her throughout her form. She reveled in the fact briefly before gazing at that sheer beauty of the stronghold. Hewn out of the very stone of the mountain, the drop was a treacherous one. As far as the eye could see there was only green – thick forests touched even the horizon.

Her mother had been human when she met her father a few centuries ago. As far as Amarinda knew, she was the only human to be ever taken into the coven and mated to a vampire. The bonding that sealed the vows spoken at the ritual of marriage was an unbreakable one – forever was promised, so her mother had become immortal. It seemed however, that Amarinda was born with some human qualities as well. Maybe that was why a mate was given to her from the Weres.

She pushed the thought aside and went to the bed. Her heart clenched in her chest then, realizing that she had spent many years pondering and dreaming about the mate she would spend the rest of her life with. Now that it was revealed, bile rose in her throat.

If only he was a vampire, he would have made a fierce one. She would not have objected, for he was attractive. She could probably have dealt with his temper too, if it was not directed toward her. Even if he were a human she would not have been bothered. But a Were?

Exhausted, she tumbled on the bed and rolled to the center. The thick bearskin furs that were thoroughly infused with his scent calmed the pace of her heart. Wasn't that ironic, she mused, since he was the source of her terror. Her stomach groaned, and she felt her body tighten. A mild, painful pulse resonated gently through her. She had not fed for many, many days.

Cuddled there, she rocked back and forth, willing the pain to disappear.

****

Graeme slammed the door behind him and went straight toward the window that overlooked the village below. His father had left him this responsibility several years ago when he had been killed in battle against another horde. With strong allies and strong enemies, he had been forced to leave the wandering life he so loved and had tied himself to the people that rejected him from the very beginning.

The true leader of the horde had been struck down with his father - the legitimate son of his father's mate. He, however, was the bastard no one wanted to acknowledge. His face softened at the thought of his mother, well tucked away from the clutches of any who would dare harm her, away from the cruel accusations that would no doubt break her heart.

She had confessed to him once that she had been his father's true mate, but circumstances had forced him to marry the daughter of another powerful horde. With such an alliance, he would not have had to worry about war anytime soon. That, however, was broken the moment he and the result to such a union were killed in battle. His father's mate had returned to her horde and received protection beneath her brother's roof while Graeme had taken up the mantle and grudgingly carried on.

Graeme never wanted to become anything more than a good son to his mother. Now, he was the hordes' leader, and as such, he was expected to carry out their laws and protect them when in danger. He had done a damn good job at it too. He had taken the strength of the horde and multiplied alliances not through marriage, but through trade. Now they were a force to be reckoned with this far north. Even the vampires stayed away.

At the thought he scowled fiercely. If what the female said was to be believed, they would come. He raked his fingers through his dark hair and ground his teeth until they hurt. He sent the scouts to do nothing more than that – scout. When they returned some three days later, it was with a woman in tow – a vampire woman.

It was a rare thing to capture a female. The men vastly amused themselves, saying that were it not for her stench, they might have found her irresistible. Truth be told, Graeme agreed with them. And for good reason too.

She was his mate.

He sneered in disgust at the word. What would the Weres say if they found out that he had been given a vampire mate? The thought was too daunting to consider. He fought hard to deserve the respect of the people now. It had taken years of proving himself to be finally accepted as a fierce warrior and worthy leader. Though not loved, he was respected. The power he held, the strength of his sword arm, and the bloodlust he birthed in battle was a force to be reckoned with.

His first thought when he spotted her being weighed down by heavy chains was that she was beautiful. Her hair was black and long, shielding all the hidden parts of her. Her skin was a creamy hue blushed with embarrassment and awareness. Her lips were flush and pink, and her nose was pert and small, resting exactly in the center of her face. It was her eyes that had left him speechless. They were unlike anything he had ever seen – silver they were, flecked in shards of blue and green.

In a word, she was stunning. He knew then she was his just like he knew she knew he was hers - pure instinct. He had seen the shock register in her eyes and the way the breaths she had tried so hard to control forced the beat of her heart to thunder. Then came the disgust. It was written as clear as day over her face when the realization sank it. Her reaction stung his pride more than he was willing to admit, and that if nothing else, had caused him to lash out. His anger had burned even at dawn when she was chained beneath the sky. He thought himself ready to see her burn - after all, she did not want a Were for a mate and he did not want a vampire. He had steeled himself, waiting for her to be turned to ash and had even considered joining the men in their cheers when – nothing.

In that instant Graeme did not know how he found the strength to stand or to pretend that he was angry. He ordered her taken to his room for fear that the men would take matters into their own hands. Now, that was where she would stay until he decided what the hell he was going to do with her. The horde had to be protected. They came first, and a mate with vampire blood in her veins was not worth the risk - no matter how beautiful she was.

Chapter Three

Amarinda listened to the heavy footsteps that paused outside the heavy door and wheezed in another breath. She was close to becoming unconscious. Unable to determine how long it had been since she last fed, she had started taking note of the days that went by until night and day felt like one. The pain of hunger racked her body until she had all but fainted. She recalled screaming, crying out, battering the door until she swore she shattered the bones in her hands, but to no avail. No one came to her aid. She realized then that this was her fate – she was left to starve. It seemed an undignified way to die.

Now the heavy lever lifted and its sound echoed maddeningly in her head. Her senses were heightened, and had the visitor arrived a few days earlier, she would have had the strength to sink her teeth into her next meal. It was Rhys who paused momentarily in the doorway. She considered him through the cracked lids of her eyes and despised her weakness. None of her limbs cooperated. She could not move even if she wanted to. He did not venture when he sniffed the air and produced a scowl. Amarinda closed her eyes the moment he turned his back to hustle away. If she had to die, she did not want an audience.

It seemed like hours later voices tapped into her awareness. Graeme's scent was overpowering, and for an insane moment she clung to the idea of the comfort it was supposed to bring. Rhys was at the doorway again, his voice rose. She winced, wishing for death, needing to feed.

"This is madness," he was saying heatedly. "You should kill her, return her, or put her in the dungeons where her screams cannot be heard. Hand her over to the men and let them seek retribution the way only the horde would. It has been days Graeme. There are rumors that the vampires have evolved. If something is not done soon, talk will sweep the masses. When the majority finds out that you have kept her here under lock and key, you will have an uprising on your hands."

"She must stay alive for what I have planned."

"She needs sustenance to live."

"What would you have me do? Offer my own people as food?"

"If there is no means to feed her then behead her. There is no possible way she can survive that."

Panic forced a soft whimper to escape through her closed throat. She heard a grunt and the slamming of the heavy door. For a long time all was silent, and when the slow stride of footsteps announced his still present form, she forced her eyes open wider still. Graeme turned his contorted features toward her and grumbled something beneath his breath.

"My general is of the opinion that I kill you and be done with it, but I have other plans for you." He towered above her prone form and sliced his palm swiftly with a blade he had secured. The heated scent of his blood assaulted her senses. Hot tears stung her eyes. He eyed her with repulsion even as she parted her lips to receive the feast he offered. It was thick and rich, and left a sweet aftertaste upon her tongue. Already she felt her body beginning to strengthen – no doubt an effect of the healing properties in his blood. She drank until the burn in her stomach ceased, not daring to look at him least she saw the disgust on his face. She did not dream to fight him then. Even as she licked her lips clean and heard him snort as he turned away, she did not allow her tears of shame to flow until after he had left the room.

****

The following morning Rhys paused on the threshold and spotted her sitting silently in the sunlight. For a moment he said nothing. When she turned to meet his gaze, he did not allow his frown to fall away. "It is new to you," he stated simply.

She cocked her head to consider him and offered a tiny smile. Had he not so been adamant about seeing her executed for the sake of the horde, he might have found that smile charming. "Thank you for what you did yesterday," she offered weakly. Rhys shifted uncomfortably and feigned ignorance. "He was informed so that I would be assisted, is it not so?"

His eyes hardened instantaneously. "He was informed in the hope that he would put a blade to your throat and end your distress. I wish you dead more than any other, vampire, but it is Graeme's objective to ransom you. Do not thank me. I am only seeking the well-being of the horde."

She considered his words carefully before offering a genial nod. "Be that as it may, I am grateful. And you can tell him that I would indeed need his services again tonight, if he is available." Rhys stiffened considerably. She noted his countenance and her brows pulled together. "Isn't that why he sent you? To inquire about my needs?"

He stepped away as if she were contagious and eyed her before reaching for the door. "I would have your head on a pike before I see him drained."

She simply nodded again and turned back to the warmth of the sunshine.

Rhys found Graeme contemplating the weapons the blacksmiths were in the process of perfecting. Graeme made a few last minute alternations to the drawing on the parchment, and then gestured for Rhys to follow him outside. As soon as they exited the room, Graeme spoke. "How does she fare?"

Rhys directed his frown toward the man and thought he sounded a little more than anxious. He kept his opinion to himself when he responded. "Stronger. Have you decided when the ransom will be announced?"

Graeme smiled slyly. "Tonight I send an envoy to the Hunters."

"And your demands?"

Graeme acknowledged the men that passed and greeted him before allowing his voice to drop an octave. "A hundred heads – Hunter heads to be precise."

Rhys eyed him in concern. "They will not annihilate their own defense to retrieve her. Tis folly!"

"Tis foolproof is what it is," Graeme countered quickly. "They will do anything to have her returned to them. That's when we will attack – when they're at their weakest."

Rhys hesitated and chose his next words carefully. "If this does not work-"

"It will work."

"If it does not, we will become a sore to the Cronus Coven. They will not rest until every one of us is killed."

"Their female is here – we cannot become more of a problem than we already are. If I return her out of good will they would not forgive her ill-treatment, and if I kill her we have a war on our hands. It is wise to take advantage of this opportunity."

Rhys digested the plan and nodded. He would stand by his leader's decision. "She informs that you are needed tonight."

Graeme's grin was wiped clean of his face. "She informs?"

Rhys shrugged, as if he could not have been bothered. "If she is to be kept alive she needs to eat. I shall secure the means of her meals."

Graeme's frown was thunderous. "I will not have her feed from my people."

"Of course not! We have animals, don't we? Cattle and swine?"

"Bleeding the livestock will only confirm the rumors. Leave her to me. In the mean time I want you to gather the men who were present the morning of her failed execution. Have them dispatched as scouts to the border-lands until further notice."

Rhys nodded and turned away to do as he was instructed.

****

"I shall tear that dogs' heart right from his chest when I get my hands on him!" This from Macer. He sat menacingly upon his armored mount, eyes as cold as the Baltic Sea. "He would snatch her from my hands then demand this?!"

Beside him his son's horse snorted, but Vilirus was deep in thought, eyeing the castle in the distance. It was hewn out of the very rock of the mountain and housed, as far as they knew, three hundred strong – a considerably large number compared to their meager ninety, but there was a reason a Were thought twice before provoking a vampire. They relied on brute force in battle – a vampire relied on speed and skill, and was considered more than just a worthy adversary.

"We must inform the Elder," Silas announced softly.

Macer snarled. "Father would not grant his request. We are the only wall between those animals and our species. What use is there committing suicide and leaving them unprotected?"

Silas' eyes glinted. "She is your daughter. Whatever decision you make now will determine whether we retrieve her dead or alive."

"I can sneak in and get her out as quietly as I can," Vilirus offered.

"They'll have you cornered and killed before you can even find her." Macer's voice was strained with frustration. "There is no other way. We must pay the ransom."

"Then I suggest yours should be the first head we present," Silas intoned. "You said it yourself – tis foolish to do so."

"I meant that we will deliver a hundred vampire heads, not necessarily ours." He cut Silas a chilling glance. The man was not known for his many words, but his skill with a blade in battle was renowned. His, however, was not as swift or as deadly as the twin brother he constantly grieved. It was this brother whose help they would undoubtedly need. Macer met his clear eyes pointedly. "Summon Sutter. Tell him we have a job for him."

Silas inclined his ash-blond head and did not move as they turned their mounts and disappeared into the darkened canopy of trees. He inhaled the sweet scent of the moist wind that swept in from the hills, and identified each odor even as he calmed his riotous thoughts. Sutter, he knew, was the source of his unease. It was not only because of the fact that they shared a telepathic link stronger and more intense than any of the Covens had ever seen, but because, like so many before him, Sutter was slowly becoming Soulless. At three hundred, neither of them had found a mate, and although Silas knew that there was a possibility he would have to live out his existence alone and so too loose everything still civilized about himself, he had promised long ago that when the time of insanity came, he would do what was necessary to protect his kind – even if it meant taking his own life.

Sutter was not of the same opinion. He enjoyed the kill. Lived for it. And the thought that one day his mate might be human made his blood churn so that even Silas felt the disturbing force of his aversion. He was the black sheep, so to speak – the one who was no longer allowed to cross the boarder-lands and enter into the haven of the Covens. The Council would not risk his capricious behavior. Silas knew his brothers' moments of sanity – and he was well aware of the darkness when it reared its head. These were the moments he could not see. As it was, Sutter had attempted to shut him out completely. It was a battle he had not yet won.

For a long while Silas waited, projecting the darkened enclosure that served as a meeting place. It was not until a full hour later that he felt a response. His brother was immensely curious, but annoyed at being beckoned. Silas did not know the exact moment he was no longer alone. With Sutter, one minute faded into the other like breathing. His ability to stalk made him a most dangerous adversary.

"The Coven needs you brother." There was no response save a soft snort of incredulity from somewhere in the shadows behind him. Silas did not attempt to turn around. For the moment, he was in no danger.

"Is that all you have to say to a brother you have not seen in so very long?" Voice raspy, Sutter stepped into the moonlight.

Silas' first thought was that he had lost weight. His skin, although flushed with fresh blood, was pulled tight across his features, and the length of hair he had once boasted was almost shorn to the scalp. Silas considered him carefully, his emotions in a riot, his brain making quick work of the red taints of his eyes and the wild look he carried about him. The first shot of fear bolted through his body when he noted that Sutter might have been more lost than he had first realized.

With their telepathic connection, nothing was hidden one from the other, and Silas caught the snide smile he offered. Sutter cocked his head to regard him through narrowed eyes.

"Do not be unsettled Silas. I will not hurt you." His voice dripped with honeyed sarcasm.

"I do not fear for myself, but for you."

Sutter's hollow laughter made his skin crawl. "Don't waste your concerns. Now tell me why the Elder needs my services."

"We need a hundred vampire heads by the next new moon."

"Hunters, or Soulless?"

Silas' nostrils flared. "Soulless, of course."

"Of course." His dry smirk did not go unnoticed. "You shall have it on the eve of the new moon here, at midnight. But let the Elder know it comes with a price."

Silas went rigid. "Are you now a mercenary, brother?"

"I am good at what I do. Sooner or later my own kind would begin hunting me. I must prepare for such a time."

"By bleeding your family's pockets?" he whipped softly.

The smile was wiped clean off Sutter's face. His eyes glinted in the moonlight. "A family which has disowned me, but uses me when it is convenient – like now."

Silas did not think to dispute the fact. "I will make your demands known."

Sutter inclined his head and turned away pointedly.

Silas felt his heart pump a little harder in his chest. "Are you not curious as to why we need so many dead?"

He paused long enough to tap his chin in mock contemplation. "Err...no."

"The Weres have taken Amarinda. They demand a ransom."

The first wave of anger emanated through Sutter in fierce violence. The strength of it hit Silas like a lash to the head, and he forced himself to block the tidal wave of emotions his brother projected lest it weakened him. From the stiff stance Sutter took, Silas knew he relived what he had gone through at the hands of the Weres many decades passed. Silas did not think to reach out to him. The rage within the confines of whatever sanity that was left was dangerously close to breeching the walls of reason. When Sutter finally looked up, Silas noted that his eyes were once again clear, and whatever feelings that had swept over and through him was now properly contained, so much so that it appeared to have been non-existent. Silas could sense nothing but the barest sense of remorse. He was pushed away and blocked out instantly.

"The young Were leader is smarter than I thought. The Hunters have finally met a foe worth their efforts." His smile was wicked and dry. "A hundred heads it is. I am curious to see how this all ends."

"With less Soulless and our niece safely home."

Sutter snickered again and turned to leave. Silas watched as he became one with the night.

Chapter Four

Graeme finished the tankard of ale and stole yet another glance at the winding staircase with a nasty snarl. For the past two days he did nothing but wait. The envoy had yet to return, and he was having a damn difficult time keeping himself away from her. Graeme didn't think for a moment that he wanted anything personal to do with the vampire woman. He fed her only because the Coven would not take her starved form lightly. It had nothing to do with the fact that he knew his blood would sustain and strengthen her better than human blood. If he kept her under lock and key, it was not because he did not want her to come to harm. She was a prisoner, and although any dungeon would do, she was a woman, vampire or not. Her constitution was a bit more delicate, wasn't it? Those who captured her and all who were present when she failed to burn to ash were sent as far from the stronghold as possible. The last thing he wanted was confirmation that he housed a vampire in his chamber – the less the masses knew, the better.

He pushed the cup away stiffly before standing. But the gods were cruel! He knew of no other Were who had ever been mated to a vampire. It mattered not that she was beautiful or her scent attracted him like a bee to honey, and it mattered not that the images that crowded his brain were all of her very naked in the throes of passion. And yes, if he were to be honest with himself just this once, he wanted her.

The admission made his throat tighten in momentary panic. If the horde discovered the truth, he would be butchered mercilessly.

He made his way up the winding stairs, absently passing his hand along the rough, cold stone. A mate was something Graeme never really considered, although he knew one day someone would be chosen. The last thing he expected was an enemy. He walked until he came to stand outside the heavy door and paused there. Even from the outside he sniffed the sweetly scented air. The scent of a vampire was like a half-rotted carcass – death was left to linger wherever they ventured. To every other Were she would be no different. But to Graeme, she was like the fresh blossoms that littered the hills in the spring.

The tightening in his chest forced him to take another moment to clear the poetic nonsense from his muddled mind, and when he lifted the heavy latch and pushed the door open, he did so with caution. Wanting to bury himself within her folds aside, he'd be damned if he was fool enough to trust her. She must have sensed it was he, for she was positioned in the center of the room, legs braced apart, and eyes unnaturally wide. The length of her hair fell all the way to her hips in limp tangles, and she had taken on the pallor of ash. Even from this distance he distinguished the fine bones in her features. Her loss of weight annoyed him to no small end, mainly because he knew that she suffered because of him. His jaw tightened considerably as any concern that threatened to develop was swiftly stomped upon. She was a parasite. One did not have compassion for such.

He closed the door with finality and noted that she jumped and took a small step back. She was afraid of him, as she should well be. The fact pleased him immensely. He did not hesitate when he strode toward the open window. Winter was coming. The moisture and stagnant cold could not be shaken.

"A-are you here to kill me?" Her voice was croaky and very pathetic.

He snorted. "I told you – you will be ransomed, not killed."

Her flecked eyes considered him with condemnation. "Why then am I being starved?"

"Starved? You were fed two days ago."

"What you offered could hardly be called a meal."

He directed a dark frown toward her. "Would you prefer a body every day of the week?"

"A sip each day would suffice," she sought to educate stiffly. Graeme made his way toward her, unwillingly inhaling a deep breath as he did so. She did not back away or attempt to flee. He grew increasingly impressed and annoyed that he should feel so. One foot from her form, he noted in a sweeping glance several very interesting facts; her pulse quickened, her breaths became uneven, her nostrils flared in awareness as she caught his scent, and the silver in her eyes darkened considerably.

The attraction – if that is at all what he felt toward her at the moment - was returned. The reason why he came was lost to him. His last memorable thought was burying his member deep within her shaft. What would it be like to bite her? What would it be like to be bitten by her?

"You will be fed daily as of today," he managed thickly before his brain could respond. Graeme considered the way her lips parted as she gasped. They begged to be nibbled. What came out of his mouth next was as unexpected as the sudden heat that seized him below the belt. "Under the condition that you take from me directly."

She paled, if it were at all possible, and scuttled away from his towering height as though he were infected with the plague. Pure disbelief reflected in her orbs. A pained look washed over her features. "I cannot. It is...forbidden." Graeme did not attempt to approach her. "Taking directly from a male...unless with the intent to kill, is reserved only for mates."

His eyes flashed dangerously. It was highly unlikely she thought him ignorant of the fact their fates were entwined. "Why?"

She struggled to find her voice. "It seals a bond that can be broken only through death." Her eyes could not meet his. "It is intimate – sacred even."

So that was the truth of it then. She did not want to be bound to him. His eyes narrowed. When he spoke, it was out of resentment at her rejection. "If I decide to keep you here, there is little the Hunters can do by way of rescuing you." Hot tears streamed down her face. Graeme did not care. "But I do not desire a leech for a mate. What I will take from you is what is mine by right – only then will you be released."

Her lips trembled so terribly he almost gave into the agony that threatened to pull in his heart. But damn it, he wanted her bound to him. He wanted to claim her, his. He also wanted her to suffer. It was a known fact that once mated, a vampire could find no solace in another. He would force his hand in the matter and be content in knowing that she was left like a wraith without him. The Cronus Coven would be scorned, and without the support of the other vampires, vulnerable. She deserved nothing less. The mere idea of ravishing her body ignited a fire in his blood. It boiled with determination. He felt a throb in his head and knew by the way she near shrank beneath his gaze that the irises of his eyes burned amber.

"Please don't do this." Her voice was laced with desperation. "You are my mate...why are you doing this?"

He met her toe to toe and presented a Lucifer's smile. The heat she generated there, mingled with the scent of her, was almost overwhelming. He clutched her cheeks firmly and ignored her panicked whimper.

"Mate?" he ridiculed maliciously. "You are nothing more to me than a means to an end. But to you I will be as necessary as the blood you so desperately crave. The fates have erred this time around leech – I will become your mate, but you shall never be mine!"

When he pushed her away, it was to leave her there, standing broken, in the center of the room.

****

It had been six days since his visit.

Amarinda curled herself into the tightest little ball and took a sweeping glance around the destroyed chamber. In a corner she rocked back and forth, muttering words in her mother-tongue in an attempt to soothe the burn of her stomach. In the throes of agony she had done this. Everything in the room was either torn to shreds or shattered. Due to her waned strength, the bed remained intact.

Amarinda had never been denied food. She likened herself unto her uncle Sutter. Many of the Hunters regaled her of stories about his valor in battle, of his blood-lust. She met him a few times before his banishment. In short, among the Covens he was a force to be reckoned with. But he was well on his way to becoming Soulless. Maybe this is what it felt like losing one's sanity she thought, for in her moments of pain when instinct took control, she recalled nothing.

Each day he would knock on the door and ask her decision. Each day she gave him the same response – that he could impale himself on his own sword. Today though, as she counted down the minutes when the sun would set and he would knock again, she knew the meaning of selling her soul. She would do just about anything to have her hunger sated, even if it meant binding herself to him. A bitter life would be her lot, but Amarinda did not care – not when she heard his footsteps echo upon the stone down the hall. The sound of his approach was heightened to such a degree that her head pulsed in agony. He smelled like the water from the rivers, fresh and clean and delicious. She flung herself against the heavy door and pressed her face there desperately.

His knocks echoed sharp and clear. "Are you still living leech?"

Amarinda whimpered, her strength spent, her emotions helter-skelter. "Open the door..."

"Speak louder witch. I can't hear you."

How he lied! She swallowed the dryness of her throat and made another valiant effort. "Open the door!"

"Why?"

She felt her strength leave her knees and slid down the door helplessly. She hated this Were! Maybe it was a blessing in disguise he offered her. She could not even stomach spending eternity with such a sadistic bastard!

"I would have you speak the words!" he sneered.

"I will take from you..." There was a pause, then the opening of the door. Her head fell in defeat as he stepped forward to discover her sitting just beyond the threshold. She heard him sniff as he scanned the ruined room, but she did not care. All that mattered was the blood that flowed like molten lava through his veins. He hauled her to her feet and slid the bolt home. The instant his back was turned, Amarinda launched. Her fangs sank into the vein of his neck. His roar was followed by a deadly grip upon her arm as he forced her away. Light-headed from the small fare she had taken, she whimpered and attempted to fling herself upon him again.

"Wait!"

She trembled in need, hating him more each moment, craving his blood all the same. He took his time about the matter and exposed the laces of the tunic he wore. Her eyes fell to the pulse that beat there, at the base of his throat. A strong pulse it was. Hers for the taking. She stepped forward and sank her teeth into him, pulling as deep as she dared. She drank until her hunger was sated; until she heard him growl low in his throat...until the haze of hunger abandoned her, until awareness swept her form. His hands were making their way down the curve of her hips. She pulled away and met his eyes, shocked that they flamed so brightly, afraid of the sharpened edges of several of his slightly elongated teeth, but most of all, confused that hot spasms coursed through her blood.

He intended to dishonor her, to use her like linen and send her back to her Coven a ghost. He did not love her, did not want her at his side until his last breath. By taking from him she had just signed over herself, body and soul. Even now as he trailed his fingers through her hair, she could feel herself surrender. He was her mate. She was bound to him now, no matter what he chose to do to her. Tears of remorse swamped her eyes.

"Get it over with," she rasped, hating that even as he leaned forward to take the lobe of her ear between his dangerously sharp fangs, she shuddered with anticipation. He tore the dress from her body and stepped back to look at her. Amarinda never felt more ashamed in her life. Her very first time and there she was, filthy, reeking and with a mate who did not want her. She made to cover her breasts. He stilled her hands swiftly.

"Do not hide from me," came his guttural voice. Tears streamed down her face and stained her chest. It was another moment before he spoke again. "Look at me."

She shook her head and closed her eyes. His touch fell away and for a moment more, he said nothing. An almost awkward kiss was placed upon her stiff lips. Her eyes darted open in surprised wonder. That he would approach her with such intent, only to kiss her...

The distance between their bodies was but a breath and the soft, tantalizing manner his lips danced upon hers elicited a sigh from the depths of her being. A very wet tongue teased her teeth, coaxing her to accept the invasion. Almost instantly, she opened her mouth. He tasted of potent drink spiced with herbs, and he drew on her tongue greedily for a long time, contenting himself with simply instructing her. The teasing bites and nibbles around her mouth prompted a moan, and even when she leaned into him to wrap her arms around his neck and run her fingers through the thick length of ebony hair that crowned his head, he did not make to touch her – until she instinctively pressed her hips into his and felt a very hard, incredibly large part of him. Her panicked gasp almost forced their lips apart, but he took full control then. She was tumbled onto the rumpled sheets swiftly. Whatever resistance she may have voiced was drowned by the intensity of his kisses and the near lethargic after-effect of his hands running themselves about her agitated form. From the moment his mouth left hers she gasped for air – and was all but breathless again. One peeked nipple was being suckled, the other duly assaulted by deft fingers. Amarinda arched her back and held him to her form avariciously. Her soft cries he answered with a deep, satisfied groan.

"I bet my life you taste as delectable as you look," he rasped between kisses. His lips trailed a blazing path down the center of her stomach. His seeking fingers stroked the length of her legs and lingered for a fleeting second behind her knees. She hissed in delight, catching his eyes for only a moment before hers were closed in pleasure once more. This was the reason females were created, she decided. This was what it meant to be woman. Or so she thought, for the instant his light touch stroked her heated core, she hollered. Awareness shocked her in full force. Distraught, she attempted to push him away, whimpering his name, mewling helplessly. Her reaction fueled the passionate way he abused her lips. One large hand was wrapped impatiently about her waist and she was pulled up higher to the center of the bed.

"Open for me," he purred the moment her thighs locked his hand in place. "Let me look at you...let me..."

Her knees were pried apart, and the moment his tongue replaced his swift fingers, she shattered. Fire and ice swept her from head to toe, and she moaned an endearment in unabashed pleasure. He trailed a wet line to the dip of her stomach, to each very sensitive nipple, and finally paused to nibble at her neck. Her sigh was one of contented exhaustion.

"It is not over yet leech," he purred, nipping at her lips. Basking in the after-math of satisfaction, she did nothing but smile. There was a rustle of clothing, and then the heat of his body returned. Her eyes flew open immediately. He was poised above her, his naked form very muscled and defined. The soft hair that matted his chest invited her to touch him there, and she did so, curiously at first. Her fingertips traced each cut and contour of his form, and lingered upon his taut stomach before brushing the protruding member there. Wide eyed and astonished, she wrapped her fingers around him. He was like iron sheathed in satin. Her eyes met his in wonder. He exhaled a strained breath, and it was only then that she understood her inspection of his body had cost him much self-restraint. Bravely, she touched her lips to his. For two full seconds his body went taunt, and then all at once he fell upon her, ravishing her lips once again as he sought the entrance to her body. Amarinda lifted her hips and held nothing back. White heat seized her then, and she stiffened in agony.

"Relax...I will make it better...trust me." True to his word, the pain subsided and was transformed into immeasurable pleasure. Never before had she experienced this closeness. He stretched and filled her until she felt herself bursting. He moved faster still and not once did he tear his lips from hers. The moment he stiffened, Amarinda felt him pulse deep within the furthest reaches of her stomach. Instinct made her wrap her legs around his waist and hold him to her chest when he collapsed upon her breasts. He was heavy, and his heartbeat thundered wildly, vibrating even throughout her very being.

He made to move then, but she tightened her legs around him and could not meet his eyes when he looked into her face. She released him slowly, her gaze focused on the ceiling directly above her. He would leave her side now, and would return her to her Coven. Amarinda was not fool enough to believe the emotion that swelled in her heart was love, or even a liking for this Were, but he was now and forever would be, her mate.

Chapter Five

Graeme considered the dark forest from his perch upon the battlements. At his side, Rhys shifted impatiently. Neither man spoke. Hunters were scented by a few of the scouts. The evidence of their presence did not sit well with Graeme. They had never attempted to venture this close before. For a long time he listened to Rhys council. The envoy had returned shaken, but alive and unharmed, with news that his ransom would be met on the date demanded. Still, they would try to rescue her. Why else would the Hunters risk death by crossing the boarder-lands and coming onto his territory? Even now he suspected that they hid in the dark foliage below, waiting for an opportunity to breech the walls. If that was indeed their plan, it was a foolish one. A Were could scent a vampire from a distance.

All of this for her, his vampire mate. He locked his jaw, mind racing. Oh, but how he had wanted her! He had prepared himself mentally to take from her until she was aching and sore, had kept himself away for as long as it took before she finally agreed to feed from his veins. Graeme heard desperation in her voice each time she cursed him to hell, but he had been patient – then finally, she had agreed. He had expected the pain when bitten. What he had not expected was the heated desire that whipped like a furnace within him at the texture of her mouth against his skin. No, Graeme had not expected to want to be tender with her, to want to discover all the sweet crevices of her beautiful body, to want to taste her, to feast on her like a voracious wolf. She had given herself so innocently, so generously, that unfortunate for him, he was tempted to be drawn into her arms more often that he cared to admit. The mere thought that in three weeks she would be gone left him unsettled. Still, he could never commit himself to her. No matter how delirious he imagined himself to be in the heat of passion, he would never bind himself to her. She was a vampire. His plot for vengeance must be carried out. He would not allow himself to feel any affection toward her simply because he enjoyed a tumble. He was not some whipped pup, and she was not his first lover.

He snorted loudly and turned to Rhys. The man had not spoken since he informed that the envoy had returned, and he awaited instruction. They had become good friends since Graeme had taken up his fathers' mantle, and he honestly believed that no one could have done a better job of rallying the men. His advice was infallible, but this time, Graeme knew why he did not listen to the general's counsel. He had wanted to sample all the lustful delights of the vampire's flesh. Now that he had, he did not want to leave it at that just yet.

"We should increase the scouts," came Rhys' drone voice finally.

"That will not prevent them from intruding," he responded.

"Then we send them a message – one that makes it clear trespassers are not welcomed."

A tight frown brought his brows together. His sigh was deep. The vampires were conniving. Until he held the security of their very heads in his hands, he suspected they brewed a plan. "Have the men cut and burn the trees within half a mile in every direction. I want the guards doubled at night along the walls and torches lit several yards out in the fields." He leaned against the cold stone and held the furs close to his body. "I do not want the Hunters attempting to breech these walls. Although we are many, we would suffer great loss at their hands."

Rhys nodded understanding and turned away. Graeme listened to his footsteps until they faded. Above, the first quarter moon waned. He made his way along the battlement and down the winding staircase, his destination the woman who was now mated to him. Shadows danced along the walls as he swept past. The heavy echo of his steps lingered in the dark. He sniffed the stagnant air at the end of the hall. Even from this distance he could smell her there, awaiting his company behind the barred door. Slowly, he advanced. Images of their time together clouded his mind. It took no further prompting to heat the member below his waist. The heavy door was pushed open; he caught sight of her before the window. She was dressed in nothing but a sheet wrapped about her body. The room was as cold as the night outside. Her length of hair reflected the moonlight. She was hauntingly beautiful, this vampire. Graeme slammed the door louder than intended, and when she glanced over her shoulder to look at him, it was with bright sliver eyes that shone unnaturally. Fire coursed through his blood and a breath caught in his throat. He tossed the furs from around his shoulders in a heartbeat.

"They are out there," she informed. "I feel their presence..."

He moved passed her, scowled at the darkened forest and closed the window. "Then they are fools. I will not take lightly their trespassing onto my territory."

She swallowed hard. "They worry for me. Wouldn't you have done the same had it been your loved one?"

He thought about her, being snatched from beneath his very nose by the Hunters that lingered amongst the trees. The wave of anger that accompanied his controlled panic at the initial discovery of their presence was not present this time around – this time, with her standing next to him draped in nothing but a sheet and trembling lightly in the cold, he was alarmed. If the shoe had been on the other foot, the Hunters would not have gotten past the main gate as far as he was concerned. The hills would have been bathed with their blood for even attempting to tear her away from him.

Stunned, Graeme scowled at the mere idea of it all. Hadn't he not more than ten minutes ago remind himself that she was just a pawn? His nostril flared when he ran his fingers through the length of her hair. "For a loved one, yes. But not for you."

She blinked. Her eyes shone like liquid gems in the darkness, flooded with tears of hurt. He yanked her body against his and rocked the evidence of his desire upon her stomach. She whimpered like a wounded animal. "When will you release me?"

"When I'm good and ready."

"You said you would release me when you have claimed me." Her voice was coarse and almost a whisper. "You do not want me, and I am worthless to you. Why am I still being held?"

"I may not want you, but what I want from you is another matter completely."

Something very close to anger glinted beneath her tears, but when she spoke her voice was trickled with askance. "Am I to be fed tonight?"

His tongue found her ear. Her fangs shone pearl in the night. Graeme touched the scars on his neck and frowned. He had a hell of a time keeping the evidence of her feed hidden from the others. "Somewhere less visible this time."

His clothes fell to the floor in a heap, and moments later he had duly pulled the sheet from her body. By all the gods, she was something to look at - all long-limbed and full in all the places his hands itched to caress. He made to reach for her. She stepped forward and pressed her soft breasts to his form. Taken quite by surprise at her boldness, something akin to a grin pulled at his lips. Her fingers poked his chest and pushed him back. He obliged, settling himself on the bed, looking at her in anticipation. Her pebbled nipples were directly before him, and when he moved to capture the hardened peeks between his lips, she caught his face between her hands and pressed her lips there. He gripped the softness of her hips and marveled that his blood had done wonders to her half-starved form. Undoubtedly after tonight, she would be fully healed.

"Straddle me," he commanded softly. A blush stained her cheeks, but she obeyed. The heat of her center was pressed against him, and he caught the full scent of the musk that wafted between them. His nostrils flared and despite himself, the need to bury himself within her, to become one with her, was almost overwhelming. He pressed his lips to her neck. From the moment his tongue darted out to taste her, she hissed. He pulled her closer still. She fell against him and forced him back even further. Upon the warm furs, knees bent at the edge of the bed, Graeme's eyes flamed amber as he considered her hungrily. Her tongue darted out and traced a heated path from the scars that were almost healed from the night before upon his neck, to his throat, then down his chest.

He held his breath. For the life of him he could not recall ever having a woman caress him so tenderly. Her fingers gently clawed his tightened stomach. Graeme sank his fingers into the thick, tangled mass of hair at the back of her head and sat half way, the strain of his muscles pulled taunt. Still, her lips and moist tongue journeyed south. His anticipation heightened. Each dip and plane of his lower torso she explored with her mouth. Unwillingly, his eyes closed. The things he wanted to do to her...

"You should feed," he croaked between heavy breaths. "You will need your strength for what I have planned for you tonight."

No sooner did the words leave his mouth did her piercing fangs sink themselves into the flesh of his inner leg. Graeme's eyes darted open. The heat of pleasure was like a furnace, exploding within him even as her fingers wrapped around his throbbing member. The motions she applied there were slow and uncertain, and he enclosed his hand over hers to demonstrate tenderly. All the while she drank, pushing him to a place of urgency. Almost violently he tumbled her beneath him, and it was in hunger and desperation he slammed himself into her. She hollered in ecstasy. Crimson droplets stained the corners of her mouth. Graeme continued his hasty movements and captured her parted lips greedily. The taste of his own metallic blood, merged with the almost primal groans that escaped her sensual form beckoned him to do the unthinkable – in a rush of rapture, his fangs lengthened. Just one bite...to taste her...to mark her mine...Spasms claimed her body swiftly, and the moment those convulsions tightened upon his rod buried deep within her flesh, Graeme stiffened. His teeth grazed the tender flesh of her shoulder where he lowered his mouth to give into the temptation, but already the heat of such rapture had begun to cool. He sighed in contentment and stayed there for a moment. Little tremors still snaked through her frame.

"The night has only just begun," came his voice finally. "I intend to be fully satisfied by the time of the new moon."

Her hands touched him lightly, and before he gave into the need to hold her close, he moved away. "The new moon...is that when I will be released?"

Graeme locked his hands behind his head and did his best to calm his harsh breaths. His heart still pounded from their exertions. "That depends upon the Hunters."

"The Hunters? I don't understand."

"They have agreed to pay your ransom. If they are able to do so, you shall be returned."

She sat up slowly, her face flushed, eyes glinting. The air was thick with the scent of their mating. Graeme's eyes fell to her breasts and reached out to caress her non-too-gently. She batted his hand away in agitation. "If the Hunters are paying my ransom, what have I been doing?"

He blinked, and then thundered laughter. "Your body pleases me, but you cannot be compared to a hundred Hunter heads!"

Amarinda felt a fist lock around her heart and sucked in a gasp of breath. She thought about her mother, possibly dead at the hands of wolves, of her dear sweet uncles who would have given their very lives to see her safe, of the handsome young vampires who had wanted so desperately to dance with her at the manse those many long nights ago. Her heart broke in more ways than one. Oh, she had known she would never have him. Her hunger had driven her to become nothing more than she was now – a despised whore of a dog! And now, after ripping the very soul from her body, he would further humiliate her family, her species, by having her ransomed for such a price?

Rage forced her to her feet. There in the dark, the pleasure she found in his strong embrace was duly forgotten. Mate or not, she would hurt this mongrel son of a bitch! She would kill him where he lay, looking flushed and so sexually sated – she hated to even remind herself of the fact that it was all because of her need to feed. If only she had been born male, she would have beheaded the bastard!

"You animal!" she hissed, trembling so hard it was difficult to form the words. He pushed himself up and considered her with a twisted smile on his face. Amarinda rushed forward without warning. One minute she was standing there – the next she had succeeded in pinning him upon the furs and pummeled his face in with her fist. His roar of pain was very satisfying, for in his shock, he had not anticipated her attack. Amarinda had never experienced blood-lust borne of rage – she saw nothing but her target, heard nothing but the harsh pounding of blood in her ear and felt nothing save the hatred that burned in her heart and fueled her on. Her victory was not to last, for in a flash he had flung her away and off of him. Her body catapulted through the air and landed against the cold stone floor. On her feet she darted, her eyes flaming, fangs protruding and just as deadly as his.

He wiped the blood the oozed from his lips with the back of his hand. He was angry. No, she corrected. He was not just angry. He was livid. And by the way he stepped forward with purpose, Amarinda knew that whatever mercy he allowed her had reached its end. This was it then. This was where he would beat her and leave her alive long enough to collect his ransom. Or where he would walk out the door and starve her – again. Some of the starch went out of her spine. A beating she could handle. Being deprived of blood however...

By his fourth step, the vampire within her begged to surrender. This was her mate for heaven sake! If he demanded her beating heart on a platter she would give it to him. But he was the reason she had lost everything! He was the reason she was no long worthy of honor! He was the reason her family, her Coven, would die!

"I will kill you tonight mongrel!" came her trembling voice. "I will drain the blood from your veins and use the strength there to unleash hell!"

His jaw ticked. He approached her with caution. "By all the gods when I get my hands on you I'll whip the skin off your back."

He would do it. She saw the promise in his eyes, in the determined manner of his advance. If she had to die then so be it. Amarinda would die fighting. She moved with lightening agility, and the back of her hand caught his cheek in full force. This time, however, she did not foresee his counterattack. Just as quickly, the favor was repaid. She hit the floor so hard the room spun. Everything was blurred. Hot tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away even as she attempted to stand. Tangled hair framed her face, and she pushed it out of her line of vision to stare directly into his amber orbs. His nose near touched hers. Her gasp of fear and shock froze her to the spot. Everything about him spelled power. His length of dark hair curled around his shoulders and the snarl he offered was accompanied by a threatening growl of dominance. Amarinda stiffened her spine and struggled with the will to stay on her feet.

"Is that all the fight you have within you?" he taunted, pressing his massive, naked chest to hers. His sniff of disgust was like a slap to the face. "Any other woman would have suited me better."

Jealous rage sent another wave of tremors through her form. He noted her slightly flaring nostrils, for his smirk was one of mockery. Amarinda did not have far to lean forward when her teeth sank into the muscle of his shoulder. His roar of agony was very satisfying, especially since there were no tender kisses to muddle her senses. Or so she thought, for the moment he moaned, she scuttled away and considered him in wide-eyed shock. His member was already stiff and pulsating, and there was the look of smoky desire on his face.

"Is that what you planned?" he rasped, stalking her as she stumbled from his fierce form. "To use your teeth?" She swallowed hard. What the hell just happened? Surely her bite had caused him pain! Her back made contact with a tapestry that hung from the wall. She was cornered. Penned. "I too have teeth, leech. One of these days I will show you that I know how to use them!" His grip upon her arms was brutal when he flung her around. Her tender cheek was pressed against the coarse material of the tapestry even as he locked her hands behind her back with fingers of iron. Searing tears flowed from her eyes. She struggled all the while.

"Let go of me! You're hurting me!"

He rocked his hips forward to press against the swell of her rump. Her gasp sent the saliva down the wrong way. She coughed pitifully.

"I've been too lenient with you so far," he hissed in her ear. His free hand slipped swiftly between her trembling legs and found her core. She shook her head in feigned denial. "This is how I want you...desperate for me..."

To her utter dismay, she leaned back into him. The head of his manhood probed her sleek entrance harshly. Amarinda accepted the invasion with soft mewls of pleasure. He took her hard and fast, releasing her hands in favor of her hips as he pounded unceremoniously into her sheath. His grunts of urgency near drowned out the moans of delight she offered, and when the white heat of yet another eruption claimed her, she felt his seed shoot into the depth of her stomach, scorching and sure.

Sore, exhausted, and too ashamed to look at him, she almost crumpled to her knees. He lifted her haphazardly with one arm and leaned her against the wall. The peeks of her breasts faced him once more. He suckled them harshly, one after the other. Amarinda felt her body respond even to the brute force he used. She swatted his hand away tiredly.

"Enough..." He paused, his eyes gone serious again. Already she saw that he was more than willing to rise to such a challenge. She swallowed some of her pride and allowed her eyes to fall. "Please..."

He half dragged her almost limp form to the bed. There she tumbled in an exhausted heap, eyes already moist with tears. He would not spare her. He would not deal with her gently after she had so foolishly allowed her anger to rule her head. The wound on his shoulder oozed blood and trickled down the length of his chest. Her nostrils flared at the hot, enticing scent of it. Desire swam beneath the liquid in her eyes. Amarinda knew it had nothing to do with her hunger. She was sated for the time being, but the need within her, the desire to be filled by him stirred, even as he pinned her hands at the sides of her head. A sign of his strength. A sign of his ultimate control. A sign of his dominance. Sweet shudders swept her. His glowing amber eyes narrowed in determination. A self-righteous smile quirked the corners of his mouth.

"Patience Amarinda," he drawled in a husky baritone. "We are far from finished..."

Her toes curled in anticipation.

Chapter Six

It had been several days of insatiable pleasure. The ache in her limbs throbbed sweetly through her body as she stretched beneath the thick furs. Amarinda groaned and rolled over – only to be met with hard warmth. Panicked, her eyes darted open. At her side, he slept. The deep breaths he took fanned her face and forced her to blink. Her first thought was to move away, but the temptation to cuddle close was too great. Ever so slowly, she inched closer still, not wanting to awaken him. He would push her aside and grumble curses as was his habit each morning. He regretted having spent the night, he said. She was blamed for her witchcraft, for seducing him each time he saw her fed. In the nights passed their joining had taken on a new intensity she did not understand. He was thorough, fierce even. There were instances she swore his features shifted, as if he was at the brink of undergoing the change right before her eyes. Then he would kiss her, or pull away, or hold back on how violently she knew he wanted to ravish her.

Surprisingly, Amarinda was not afraid. She had been regaled with so many stories about the Weres, she knew his near explosive violence stemmed from the fact that the full moon was already rising. Tonight, if she was not mistaken.

A quiver began in her belly and ended in her toes. Absently, she allowed her eyes to assess him. The furs covered his lower half. Her cheeks near flamed. She knew what it covered and how fulfilled it made her feel. Light fingers trailed the line of hair that disappeared there up his abdomen. Every dip and valley she outlined, wanting to remember him as he was now, unguarded and asleep. He boasted many scars she saw, some more pronounced than others, some healed uglier than some. The hair that matted his wide chest was silken to the touch. She twirled her fingers there and pressed her nostrils to his shoulder to inhale the very essence of him. His scent put her in mind of the clean mountain brooks and the stones on the river bed that made wading through the water near uncomfortable. The memory made her smile, and she lifted her hand to stroke his jaw line, to outline the shape of his mouth that was always twisted in a scowl – and froze like a thief that had been caught.

His eyes were focused upon her face. The depth of the almost orange taints there forced her to swallow hard. Flushed, she allowed her hand to fall. That he should see her so, near worshipping his form mortified her. She made to move, wanting to be away from him before he pushed her away as he was wont to do each morning, and gasped, stunned, as he gently slid his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his chest.

The tension seeped out of her body and through his, and she buried her head in the crook of his neck. One leg was flung over his stomach, and her fingers tentatively began their exploration of the texture of his skin. The steady beat of his heart was constant and powerful. His embrace tightened ever so lightly. She sighed. She felt protected with him. Safe. The thought forced her to pause. She should not allow herself to want him, to want to be with him. This was nothing more than a romp. How many others had lain here, in his arms? How many others had experienced paradise at his touch? The pain in her chest could not be compared. She did not love this Were, but love him or not, he was her mate. She was joined to him now. When he returned her to the Coven, she would be unable to survive. It would mean her death. He did not want her. Amarinda did not know what hurt more.

These were the only moments she would have with him. These were the hours she would have to remember for the rest of her life. There was no one else for her. Even if she took another lover, he would never make her want to yield, or want to give of herself the way he could.

Through a bout of hot tears, Amarinda lifted her head and kissed him passionately. She buried the gasp in his throat and demanded his tongue. He allowed her access to explore there, to draw him into her as he had so expertly done many times before. The warmth of his hands stroked her body. She became alive at his touch. She would remember this kiss, she vowed. She would remember the smell of his skin and the way his lips felt on hers, the callous of his hands and the way it near bruised her tender flesh when he took her passionately, the flicker of amber in his eyes when anger fought his control, and the tiny dimple that hardly ever showed, for he was not wont to genuinely smile very often.

She needed him again. Needed him more than she needed the blood that sustained her. Amarinda understood then what it meant to be mated. Had it anything to do with love? How could she love him? There was nothing he had done to deserve her love. But how she needed him!

She straddled him without breaking away from the surrender of his lips and pressed her forehead to his. He would never mark her. He admitted as much. But he boasted her mark all the same. And whether he wanted her or not, she would ensure that he would never forget her.

Graeme's eyes darted open in wonder as she explored his body with much more than curiosity – but determination. Every caress seemed calculated, executed with the intent on delivering much pleasure. He combed his fingers through her mass of hair, body burning with the effect of her kiss. The expression on her face was a mixture of stiff resolve and agony. Somewhat confused, he pushed aside the heat that laced his belly and gripped her arms to haul her to his chest once again. Her eyes darted open. He noted the moisture of her lashes, clumped and dark. He searched her eyes for a long time, somewhat undone by the passion that swirled there. Something else haunted her orbs, something he could not quite place. She lowered her gaze to hide the emotion and slid her seeking hand along his stomach to disappear beneath the furs.

It slipped his mind to probe her with questions. The tender ministrations of her hand and the heat of her lips that blazed a moist trail from his lips to his chest and further south extinguished all forms of doubt from his mind. The scent of his seed mixed with her oils still stained her skin and the furs he was near buried in. His nostrils flared. In the nights gone by, he had allowed himself every imaginable pleasure at her hands. Every position had been explored, and the more he taught her, the more eager she was to learn.

This morning was a pleasant surprise. She looked at him with much more than longing. If Graeme was a man who believed in love, he might have used that word to accredit the depth of emotion that swirled in her eyes. But he was not fool enough to think that this sweet, beautiful vampire should love him. They were natural enemies. Why the fates had mated them was beyond any reason he could think of. Why each day he grew more possessive of her was something he did not want to contemplate.

Her heated mouth covered his throbbing member, the suction created there firm and slow. Graeme near bolted off the bed. Bliss. This was what she brought to him. Her breasts were crushed to his thighs. Deeper still she lowered her mouth. His eyes rolled back. The almost reverent way she caressed him might have been disconcerting, but at that moment, he did not care. The growls that reverberated at the back of his throat were meant to encourage her. His fingers sank into her silken locks. He bobbed her head, creating a rhythm that forced a husky moan from his lips. He felt himself build, felt fire threaten to consume him and pushed her away swiftly. The cry on her lips died beneath his kiss.

"Please," she said thickly. He did not pause, not as he pushed her back to gain her footing, not as he continued to taste her tongue. Naked, they stood on the cold stone. Graeme pulled away long enough to move the strands of hair from her face. He looked at her. What he saw was suddenly more than just a vampire. He saw her. When had she denied him herself? When had she started looking at him as if the sun rose and set in his eyes? When had her kisses started to taste so sweet?

Confused, he frowned. What the hell was wrong with him? She was no different. It had to be the magic of the moon. The full moon was tonight. Mature Weres had a hell of a time controlling their baser instinct on nights like this. He would have to do her a kindness and stay away. If he hurt her, or killed her, they would have an all-out war on their hands.

Her feathery touch jerked him out of his musings. Her lips were swollen and parted – and she panted. He inhaled the thick air between them. The scent of her full arousal momentarily scrambled his senses. He pulled her against his desire and lifted her slowly.

"Wrap your legs around me..."

She obeyed. Graeme slid into her tight entrance and watched in interest the flush of her cheeks and the emotions that fluttered across her face. His steps were purposeful when he made his way across the room, moving her light weight up and down all the while. The mewling noises she made stroked something very primal within him. Her back to the wall, he adjusted her again. This time when he moved, it was with slow, tantalizing motions. Blood heated, he captured her lips. Each time he slipped within her, she expanded, gripping onto his erection like a vise. Hot and sleek, her body worked like a vise. It occurred to him then that if he moved just so, she gasped. Again, he experimented. Her whimper was a welcomed one. Their bodies joined, he introduced his fingers to her swollen nub just above his entry point. Shudders raked her body violently, so much so that the instant her eyes opened, they blazed quicksilver. Her hips bucked uncontrollably. The swift contractions around his own need prompted his kiss and the acceleration of his hips, and before long, he stiffened, releasing his seed into her belly, and leaving with her another piece of himself in the process.

She clung to him, trembling like a leaf. Soft and pliable, he did not release her. Still impaled upon his shaft, he felt the first teardrop upon his shoulder. Fingers of steel gripped onto her thighs and took her to a large chair to one side. He sat, and did not allow her to move. She contracted around him again. His lips found hers. The tears she wept were very salty and very warm. They streamed down her face and mingled in their kisses. For a long time he held her like that, unwilling to release her just yet. She did not make a protest. When at last he pulled away and leaned back, it was to simply look at her.

"Feed," he said tenderly. She nibbled her plump, cherry lips and cast her gaze aside. "Are you not hungry?"

"No."

She lied. He knew it to be so. A heated cloak descended upon his orbs and he leaned forward to nibble the lobe of her ear. Lower still he went. His teeth pinched at her exposed neck. Her nipples went rock hard. He grinned wickedly. When he spoke, his voice was laced with temptation. "Bite me, vampire. You know you want to..." His lips danced upon her flesh. She shuddered in delight. And moved away. The scowl on his face matched his confusion well.

"I – I cannot."

Graeme considered her in silence as she pulled the tapestry away from the window. Sunlight bathed her form. Peeked, dusky nipples shone a reddish mahogany. Her skin was still very much blushed with the afterglow of his touch. "What do you mean you cannot?"

She blinked away the last of her tears and met his eyes. There was a new determination there now, and Graeme did not like the way she jutted out her chin and stood there so defiantly. His eyes narrowed. One week she had given of her unselfishly. One week he had come to her night after endless night to find her ready and waiting and as eager as he. Now, she would fight him again. The thought was a maddening one.

"I do not wish to feed from you again."

Her words washed over him like a dash of cold water. Stunned, he stood his full height. On his body he boasted several of her bites – on his chest, on his inner leg, on his back. There was not found a place on him she had not marked. The pleasure he received from the sensation it evoked brought him to the peak of sexual fulfillment every time. And now, she did not wish to feed from him again?

"What nonsense are you talking about, leech?" he snapped impatiently. "You are a vampire. You drink blood. It is by your own tongue you have admitted the need to feed each day. Now come here."

She stepped back. Tension whipped at his core.

"I – I want to, but..."

"But what?"

She turned her back pointedly, whether in defiance of him or to hide the hurt he glimpsed in her eyes, he did not know. "If I am to be ransomed soon, it is in my best interest to stop strengthening the bond."

His glower deepened. "What bond?"

"You are my mate. Each time I feed from you, the more of myself I want to give to you..."

He snorted. "I do not feel such a bond."

Her shoulders slumped forward. Her whimper was laced with agony. "It is because you have not marked me. You have said it yourself – you are my mate, but I shall never be yours."

I shall never be yours. Hearing her say the words forced his chest to constrict agonizingly.

But you belong to me. The fates have decided! He hesitated. His plan was already set in motion. He had to ransom her. His duty to the horde was more important that this vampire – more important than how he fancied he felt in her arms. He stiffened his resolve and observed her from the distance.

A bond. He sniffed. Marked or no, if there was indeed such a bond he would have felt something by now, wouldn't he? So what if at times he had considered keeping her? It had nothing to do with this so-called bond. Was she playing some kind of a game then? Did she mean to starve herself? Graeme had seen the desperate measure she had taken to ease her hunger. It made no sense.

He eyed her intensely. That was the truth of it then - she was being bonded each time she fed. The thought that she would never want another more than she wanted him made his chest inflate considerably. He near burned to touch her again. Nostrils flaring, he approached. "You need to feed."

"I will not take from you."

He cocked a brow. "Will you not?"

"No."

"Exactly how long do you think this resolution will last?" His mouth found her ear. She made to scramble away from his touch. He caught her around the middle and tumbled her upon the bed.

"Let go of me," she demanded softly. Graeme parted her thighs and captured her lips. She kissed back just as fervently.

"Never." Fingers linked through hers, he nibbled the outskirts of her mouth and grunted impatiently when she pulled away. "If you do not feed now, I will wait. I have done it before."

She gasped. "I am not asking to be starved – only that another comes in your stead."

He froze instantly. Amber burned in his gaze. His body was whipcord above hers. "If you want to assign yourself to a swift death, mention it again."

She swallowed hard. "But -"

"No!" He made to capture her lips once more. She turned away. He shifted, irritated. "You are not allowed to take directly from another. It is considered sacred. Or have you forgotten your laws?"

"You are not vampire, and I am to be released in a fortnight. You are not bound to me. Our laws say nothing about being mated to a Were."

He sat up on his haunches, furious. "I do not care what your law states, leech. My decision is final. You will not feed from another." He pushed away the jealousy that squeezed at the pulse in his chest. Her bite was intimate, not only to her, but to him as well. Her mouth, her tongue on another man would send him into a rage of bloodlust. A vein rose across this forehead at just the thought.

"Then I shall wait until I am ransomed."

"You cannot wait that long."

"Your blood is strong – not like human blood. I have fed much in the past few days. My body is stronger. I can wait."

The need to claim her again was fueled by the throbs of jealousy within him. He forced her thighs apart and slipped down the length of her body. There was slight panic in her eyes. His satanic smile complimented the snarl on his lips perfectly. "We shall see about that."

"Wha-aaa..." A heated tongue sent her voice pitching high. Nerves raw, she gasped helplessly as he near devoured her core, grunting in contentment and pleasure. The obscenities he spoke against her heated flesh brought her over the edge time and time again. She begged mercy. None was given.

"You will take from me," he announced huskily, lifting his mouth from her neither-lips and slipping the length of a finger within her. She shook her head in response. His smile lowered until the harsh length of his tongue stroked her core once more. Bucking, her fingers sank into the furs. Her legs quivered, the first tell-tale sign that she was about to be driven to the edge. Desire set him on fire. He lifted himself quickly and plunged deeply within her, his movements controlled. Each stroke was done with great care. Her eyes met his, misty and swamped with lust. Graeme held her close to his taunt form and watched in fascination as her pupils dilated and flashed as he took her skyward. On the verge of shattering, he sank his teeth into his wrist. At the scent of his heated blood her nostrils flared. Almost violently she covered her mouth over the wound. Shattering, Graeme felt her quake beneath him. Every muscle within her contracted upon his stiff member still pumping into her. When at last the bright light of rapture blinded him, he collapsed in a heavy heap upon her chest. Her heart thundered. It echoed in the deepest part of his mind.

She attempted to push him away. Graeme met her wide, moist eyes and scowled. "If I bite you again, I will not be satisfied until you are drained. I will see you dead before this bond strengthen."

He paused and considered her well indeed. "I am your mate. You cannot help but want me."

That he could say the words aloud forced her to recoil. Her eyes glinted in fury, and hurt. "I do not want you, but what I want from you is something else entirely."

He thundered laughter. He should have expected her to use his own words like a sharpened sword. "Liar." Her gasp was buried beneath a series of violent kisses. She did not want to feed, did she? She did not want to strengthen the bond?

He would see about that.

Chapter Seven

Day turned to night, then day again. Each morning Graeme would open his eyes to find her snuggled onto of his chest. He would take in the scent of her, of their mating in the stagnant air of the room, and relish how perfectly her body felt molded upon his. Now that she was in full health, her form proved almost voluptuous. Heavy breasts were crushed against his chest, and he absently ran his hand down the length of her arm to skim the swell of her hip. She was all woman - soft and full of curves. And she was his.

He scowled fiercely and gently pushed her onto the mattress. In the faint streams of sunlight, her body flushed a delightful shade of pink. For a long time he did nothing but look at her. It had been two weeks. Two weeks of making tender love to her; two weeks of holding her until she fell asleep in his embrace...two weeks of trying to convince himself that she meant nothing to him. Graeme cursed himself for a fool. This was not what he had expected when he put his plan into action almost a month ago. He was supposed to return her used and ashamed. The vampires were supposed to have her with them as a living reminder that the females they so protected served no better use than that of whores.

He stood and dressed in agitation. This was a complication he had not anticipated. Feeling any tenderness toward her did not mean that this so-called bond she had spoken about existed. To believe so was to believe that his jealousy stemmed from the possibility that maybe, he had fallen in love with her.

He snickered. To love a vampire – now there was a thought! There was nothing lovable about her. Her tongue was as sharp as his blade, she defied him whenever feminine fancies took to her head, and she made it perfectly clear time and time again that having him for a mate was like copulating with one's food. He smiled as he recalled the amused look in her eyes when she had teasingly announced such. It had been everything but hilarious then. A sense of humor she had. And a tender respect he had not initially observed. She argued with him non-stop about the ransom he demanded, and he had indulged her with patience simply because he enjoyed her.

Hesitating, he paused at the door and took another glance back. She called him her mate so very often now, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She spoke about her brother and their outings to the river, where she was more times than not disobedient when she was warned about getting hurt while wading through the deep waters. He knew more about her than he wanted to, and although the Were within him wanted to reject her for simply being vampire, the man had already claimed her.

Making a hasty exit, he all but stomped his way down the narrow hall. The new moon was a daunting two days away. He had already issued orders to the scouts to keep an eye out for trespassers. Since the perimeter of the stronghold had been cleared a month earlier, the vampires had kept their distance. Graeme was not fool enough to believe that their decision not to embark onto his territory meant that they were in any way subservient. He anticipated a reckoning. With a hundred heads less, he was confident that the horde could do some serious damage.

He took himself to the private hut the men used for washing and bathed thoroughly. It would not do for the men to scent her oils that stained his skin. He took his time about the matter. Three quarters of an hour later he made his way into the pantry. One of the wenches brought him a large breakfast and several mugs of warm, spiced milk. If anyone had noticed the large servings of food he wolfed each day, they said nothing. He needed to eat. It was the only way she would be properly fed.

The hours passed in drone monotony. Graeme held a short meeting with a few of his most trusted men, in which he carefully explained what would take place in the next couple days. They nodded and did not ask unnecessary questions. By the time evening faded to dusk, he was more than a little impatient to return to the chamber he had left that morning.

Dinner was still hot in his stomach when he made his way up the staircase. He sniffed and frowned just before he broke the landing. Rhys appeared to be leaving his chamber, and slid the bolt home. He faced Graeme in what could only be anger. Hackles raised, he tensed and cautiously made his way to the far wall. Several questions darted through his mind, all of which he intended to find the answers to.

"What are you doing here Rhys?"

The man's eyes glinted dangerously. Graeme sensed that he withheld the change with much effort. "How long have you been dallying in her bed?"

"She is a prisoner. I will do with her as I damn well please."

The man advanced slowly, his breaths deep, nostrils flaring. Graeme forced his hands to remain at his sides. Rhys was many things, but hot headed was not one of them. He would not risk doing something that would cost him his life.

"You should have told me!" he fumed in a guttural snarl. "A vampire? We have women here - women who know what we are and still choose to climb into our beds. Why the hell would you taint yourself with a vampire?!"

Graeme shouldered past him with something of a threatening growl. He did not want to scrutinize what he felt in his chest where she was concerned, and he sure as hell did not want Rhys prying into exactly why he felt whatever it was that he felt. He asked himself that too many times to recount and was still unable to figure it out.

"If the men find out -"

Graeme turned about in a flash and met his angry gaze. "How will they find out?"

He inhaled sharply. When he spoke, his voice near trembled. "Then you have betrayed your horde by choosing to bed a vampire!"

Graeme felt his control on the verge of breaking. "I have not chosen her! She is being ransomed the day after tomorrow. With a hundred less hunters we will strike hard and fast, and would be one step closer to annihilating their race!" Almost nose to nose now, Graeme saw that Rhys was still not fully convinced. He turned away, breaths taken in violently. Rhys was the closest thing he had to a friend. He did not want to make him an enemy for the sake of a disagreement. "With the dawn you will gather the men and have them prepared."

He attempted to walk away, but Rhys' heavy hand stayed him. Graeme tensed when the man's husky voice touched his ear. "Your pet does not carry a scent."

He reeled away and snarled. "What nonsense do you speak of now?"

Rhys nodded toward the door, his face contorted with the effort to control himself. "That is what lured me here. I could not scent her, so I came to see if she had managed to escape. She is there – but her scent is not. You know what that means."

Graeme shook his head in denial and swallowed with difficulty. Vampires lost their scent as a defense mechanism for only two reasons – if badly wounded, or to protect a new life within their bodies. His wide eyes looked at the heavy, bolted door and he paled considerably. "It is impossible!"

Rhys raked his fingers through the length of his hair. "Or so we thought. She is carrying whatever you put inside of her Graeme. It is neither vampire or Were. If the horde finds out about this, you and your pet will be butchered! Her Coven will not take kindly to that either. You have to do something."

"What would you have me do? Hand her over to the horde or kill her myself?"

Rhys inhaled a fortifying breath. "Whatever you decide, know this – if I am forced to choose between the vampire and the horde, I will not choose her."

Graeme listened to the heavy steps he took as he retreated. For a dazed moment he stood there, unable to bring his wooden feet to move. He sniffed gently. All he could detect was his scent, heavy in the air. He tried again. His effort proved futile.

Suddenly weakened as if drugged, he stumbled away and made a hasty exit toward the narrow staircase. He needed to find the largest cask of mead he owned, and he needed to do so fast.

****

Amarinda pressed her forehead to the door and closed her eyes tightly. Surely the exchange she had just overheard was wrong! Surely she could not be carrying his child in her womb! She pressed her splayed fingers to her abdomen and made a mad dash for the length of glass across the room. In a flash her clothes were undone. She turned this way and that, trying to find the slightest hint of a bump there. Her stomach was as flat and as unblemished as it had always been.

When Rhys had charged into the chamber a few minutes earlier it was to look at her with more disdain than usual. He had not ventured beyond the first three steps, but even from her perch near the window she saw how desperately he wanted to do her bodily harm. She had panicked, and had launched to her feet in a swift attempt at defending herself. The change had distorted his features considerably, and she knew then that if shown the slightest sign of fear, he would hurt her.

"Graeme would not take kindly to you being here," she heard herself say. Instinct had forced her to take refuge in the use of his name. Rhys' eyes had blazed like a furnace. She had readied herself for his attack. The snarl on his face and the tensed, coiled manner he held his form should have resulted in an impressive sprint. Instead, he turned about and had slammed the door with a vengeance. She had crumpled in relief the instant she scented Graeme's approach. On weakened knees she made it to the locked door – and had heard everything.

She was pregnant.

Awed, she inspected her body thoroughly. There must have been some other form of evidence that what they said was true. And how could it be so and she was not aware of such a fact? Surely she should have sensed something.

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the sound of the blood rushing heatedly through her veins. She heard the thunder of her heart and felt tenfold the expansion of her lungs each time she took a breath. Every sensation became heightened now that she concentrated. The roughly hewn stone beneath her toes was numbingly cold. The fire that was kept burning in the hearth radiated a heat that her pores sucked in greedily. The stagnant air was moist with the heavy scent of their love making. Still, she could neither feel nor sense a child.

She frowned. It was said that the only thing more accurate than a blood-hound's sense of scent was that of a Were. She needed to know for certain. If it was so, then there was no possible way she could return to the Coven now. They would see her punished and would have the child killed long before it breathed its' first breath. The thought was too daunting to consider. Still, what could she possibly do? Whether or not she was with child, he would ransom her. She meant nothing to him when he recognized her as his mate, and she meant nothing to him now. He had said it to Rhys – he did not choose her. Trembling, she donned her clothing and settled herself on the bed.

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 still mounted 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!

"That – that is not possible," he offered hoarsely. "You – you will be mated to a Hunter, as it has been for centuries. You are mistaken. You cannot -"

Her touch was warm and tender, and she cupped his face with her hands to look deep into his eyes. "I see him Papa."

Macer did not want to acknowledge the truth he read in her water-logged eyes. He did not want to think of the consequences she would have to face at the decision of the Elder upon their return. Anger replaced confusion, and he hauled her against his side as he swiftly darted to his feet. When next he spoke, his voice lost all tenderness. "The Elder will see that this by-product you carry is dealt with."

Horror masked her face, and with strength he had not expected, she pulled away from his grasp and stumbled back. "Papa, please!"

"You did this to her!" He stepped forward again, regaining his hold on her even as he pushed her deftly behind him and closer to the Hunters. An accusatory finger was directed to the silent perpetrator. "You made her a shame to our race!" In a flash his sword was drawn. The steel hummed and flashed beneath the waning moonlight. Weres from all directions hastened in to form a tight circle around their leader. The Hunters flanked him as one.

"Are you insane?" This from Silas. There was an unfamiliar trace of panic in his tone. "We are outnumbered three to one. Let us take her and leave this place!"

"She does not carry a scent..." Vilirus' voice trailed off in disbelief as a gentle wind lifted. He considered her thoroughly.

"You will pay for your insolence!" Macer charged, yet to adhere to his brother's advice.

"Papa please!"

"And you!" He retraced his steps and grabbed her upper arm with a vengeance. Her cry of agony was ignored when he shook her fiercely, violently. "This little indiscretion of yours will earn you the trashing of your life!"

Someone moved in the crowd behind him. Macer freed her before directing his attention to the Weres once more. When she fell at his non-too-gentle release, it was Vilirus who hastened to help her to her feet.

The bastard stepped through the line that was formed to protect him and had the audacity to advance. All the while he was silent. Several paces from Macer's stiff from, he stopped.

"I have upheld my end of the bargain," he said. "I could not foresee the possibility of this happening. It is unheard of."

He said it with a finality that did nothing to soothe Macer's temper. "You rutted with my daughter. I will dismember you for that alone!"

"I took from her what Fate decided belonged to me." Macer's gasp did not drown out the words that followed. "You have paid her ransom, and I have returned her to you. Now, I offer her asylum."

****

For a stunned moment, the only sounds that were heard were the snickers of a distant horse and the heavy gasps the Hunters sucked in. Graeme had no idea why he said what he said. Then again, maybe a part of him knew all along that he would offer her an option. This decision had ridden him for two long, antagonizing days. What happened to the ruthless leader of the horde who wanted her to be a stench in the Covens' nostrils, he did not know. All he knew for certain was somewhere between hating her because she was a vampire, and utterly detesting the fact that he was mated to her, Graeme somehow developed a tenderness toward her. That tender part of his heart could not bear the thought of her being tortured – or the seed he had planted in her womb ripped away.

Amongst the elite of the scouts, he had hand-picked the few who now accompanied him on this mission – Weres who trusted his word as law, who would not question whatever decision he made. Weres whose trust he desperately needed to see his plan succeed.

And it all depended upon her reply.

He tilted his head to the left to get a glimpse of her stricken expression. Eyes wide, she was now as pale as the glow of the moon above.

"You are senile," her father forced out of his constricted throat. "I will die before I let her return to you!"

A series of throaty growls rumbled at his back. Graeme's eyes lowered a fraction. "Do not be so hasty to speak, old man. I may yet grant you that request. Let her decide what she will."

"Let her decide?" the man ranted uncontrollably. "Let my naive daughter who believes herself mated to a dog decide? Every Coven across the land shall hear about your impertinence, and you will be tortured and impaled for dishonoring her!"

"She is my mate. According to our law, I can kill you for holding her against her will if that is what you intend to do." Graeme lifted a hand and gestured to the Weres behind him. Slowly, slowly, they started to fan out and blend into the surrounding trees. The Hunters backed into each other, eyes and ears alert for the coming attack. "Let her decide."

There was nothing but blood-lust on her father's face, but Graeme did not care. He had seen the fear in the depths of her eyes the moment the confession of their union fell from her lips. The threats her father promised in retribution proved too much. He would not have her beaten – he would not risk her life, or that of their unborn child.

"According to vampire law, she cannot be mated to a Were!"

"You forget; you are not on vampire territory. Our law holds sway here."

"The law of animals!"

His left eye ticked. "You will be butchered long before you make it to your horses, and I will string your innards around the borderlands as a warning to those who may try to venture." Graeme felt his patience slip with each word he spoke. Features contorting, he could withhold the change no longer. Much procrastination was done – but not anymore. Either they allowed her to choose, or he would give the order, and kill them all.

"Then a butcher it shall be, beast!"

"Papa please!" Amarinda's voice was panicked and high-pitched. She lunged forward, trying to escape her brother's grasp.

"Get her out of here!" her father continued, snarling. The Hunters scanned the surrounding trees, looking for an exit. Graeme felt his teeth elongate, felt the layer of hair on his flesh lengthen, and reveled in the uninhibited tremors that raked his form. He stretched his neck back and heard a crack, then focused his now amber eyes on the livid vampire before him. Her father brought his sword at eye level, his hand steady.

"We are surrounded on all sides," the flaxen-haired Hunter said.

"Find a way out!" he bellowed.

"We will be killed!" A young Hunter with flaming blue eyes backed closer to her father's stationary form. "Even if we do break the circle, we will never make it home alive. It is a lost cause."

"I will not leave her with him," he said tremulously. "I will not allow this to happen."

"Papa?"

Graeme was not foolish enough to break his gaze. Hunters were precise, and their blow with a sword as fatal as their bite. If he allowed himself to become distracted, he could very well loose his head.

"Papa...please Papa..." Her brother unlocked his arm from around her midsection reluctantly. With swift soft steps, she approached. Fat teardrops fell from her eyes. Pale fingers were pressed to the thick, dark cloak she wore to ward off the biting cold. "Papa, I cannot fight fate. No one can fight fate. Please understand..."

"Understand? That I am to trust your life to this beast? Look at him! He is no better than the hounds at the manse."

Graeme's hands curled into fists at his sides. Still, he waited.

"No matter what he is, we are mated. If you take me back, the Elder would not spare the child."

"Child?" His eyes met hers in shock. "That thing is a monstrosity!"

"Enough of this." Graeme had yet to raise his voice, yet its authority carried well in the tension-filled air. Her father's inferno gaze returned to his. He blocked her body with a staying arm. "What will it be Amarinda? If you stay, the child will be as safe as I can keep it. If you leave with them..." He let that hang there, eyeing her intently. "Decide. Quickly."

She whimpered and took a slow look around, pain etched on her face. "My family...you will spare them?"

"No!" This from a raging Macer.

"They will be given safe escort to the borderlands and fair warning never to return," came his throaty promise. He could see the hesitation in her eyes long before she braved a step forward. Graeme opened his palm in a silent command. Her attempt to advance was stalled when her father back-handed her to the ground. The breath Graeme was not aware he held was forced out of his lungs. With a roar of rage, he pounced. The movement around him was blurred, so swift was the attack. The Weres assaulted the small group with brutal force. Graeme flung the weight of his upper body against her father's chest and sent him pitching backward. He connected with the icy stream violently. Amarinda's voice penetrated through the thick fog of fury that clouded his mind. He noted the moment her father leapt from the water and her haphazard run toward the Hunter who fought with all he was worth against the three Weres that had somehow succeeded in pinning him to the ground.

Only a fool would come between a Were and a kill. In the frenzy, she stood the chance of being murdered. Fear of losing her consumed him. Breaths wheezing, he bellowed a command for the attack to cease and forced his legs to propel him forward. She was swept into his arms and out of harms reach. Her father's rapid advance was stopped short the moment he spun around. The sword that was wielded was slashed through the air. Graeme flung himself back, his arms locked around her body, securing her to his chest. The sharpened tip of the blade missed her delicate throat by a hair's breath.

His back connected with the cold dirt, and as soon as he rolled her away with a definite thud, he was on his feet again. Horror had crossed the vampire's face, and Graeme seized the opportunity. The sword was knocked away and with grip of iron clamped around her father's neck, he did nothing but struggle.

"Graeme!" Amarinda's voice echoed amidst the snarls and growls and the cries of pain. Someone was hurt, Graeme did not know who. So long as it was not his mate, he did not care. Her icy fingers were upon him, trying in vain to break his hold. "Please do not kill him! Please!"

Graeme curbed his instinct, curbed the desire to crush every bone in his corpse-like body, and tossed him as if he weighed not more than a fly. He fell heavily before the Hunters. They moved as one to help him to his feet. The Weres still growled and prowled, agitated.

"Get off my lands," he commanded in a deadly undertone, breathing hard. To his left, Amarinda trembled violently. In the scuffle, she had lost her fur. She touched her fingers to the lips that were being bitten mercilessly. The Hunters backed away. Her father looked at her, distressed. Even across the distance, Graeme could see that he fought the flood of tears that made his smoldering gaze glassy.

"Papa..." she whimpered. He turned away and, assisted by another, made his way, limping up the hill.

"Rhys!" Graeme heard him approach from the sidelines. "See them off."

Rhys gestured to the others, rumbled a command and was followed on silent feet. Graeme, temper somewhat dampened now that she was at his side, directed his attention toward her. She stood unmoving, considering the Hunters as they became lost in the darkness. One of the Weres brought the horse forward. Graeme mounted, more man now than beast. He offered his hand in expectation, and felt, for the first time in his life butterflies erupt within his stomach when she took it.

Chapter Nine

She could not stop shaking. The route to the stronghold through the secured mountain pass was isolated. He drove the mount on violently, her mate. In his body, she felt tension and anger rage, like the threat of a devastating explosion. Whether from the coldness, her heartache or the raw energy he emitted, she trembled.

By the time they made it into one of the baileys at the back of the fortress, she was numb from head to toe. Someone came forward to attend to the mount. He slipped to his feet in a flash and collected her into his arms. Amarinda felt tears burn her eyes. The effort to control the desperation for release weakened her. With urgency, he took to the gate and narrow staircase. Too distraught to observe exactly where they were, she sank her fingers into the material of his shirt and allowed the first racking whimper to seize her body. There came an impatient growl from his throat as he hustled toward the familiar door. After two attempts to lift the latch on the bolt, he finally succeeded. She was taken to the bed and deposited there.

Amarinda's cries were loud and unnerving. She heard the definite slam of the door, felt the heat of the fire as he added tinder there. She would never again be welcomed in the Coven, would never again see love shine from her fathers' face. Her decision to stay had wounded them deeply. What madness had compelled her to choose him? What had she done? To betray the Coven, the Elder, was an act of treason! Grasping, she struggled to contain her panicked breaths and failed miserably.

"Stop weeping," he said gruffly. "You are safe – the babe is safe. Why do you cry so?"

She buried her face in her hands and curled into a tight ball. He kicked off his boots. Amarinda heard them hit the cold floor. When the strength of his arms snaked around her to pull her close, she had not the resolve to move away. He smelled comforting, and the security she felt locked against his massive chest vanquished the demons that threatened to snatch her reason.

For a long time, neither of them exchanged words. Amarinda's cries died to nothing but a sniffle. She exhaled and shuddered exhaustedly, then turned to face him. The dancing firelight cast his profile in planes and shadows. His eyes locked on hers. Everything within her felt vulnerable. He had offered her sanctuary. Before his men and the Hunters, he had referred to her as his mate. A light of hope ignited in her chest, and was stomped out just as quickly – he had said nothing of marking her. Eyes swollen, her gaze was cast aside.

"My family hates me. I am embarrassment to my race...I can never return to them." Her voice was hoarse. He grunted in agreement. "I have lost everything."

Ever so slightly, his grip tightened. Amarinda stiffened. There was no use in denying the obvious – she was in love with him. She was bound to him, not only because of their mating, but because of the tender moments they shared – moments like this one, when all that mattered was his touch and his listening ear. Still, she was no fool. He had made it clear that she was nothing more than a means to an end.

When at last she took hold of her raging emotions, she pulled away from his touch. He allowed her escape, and did not move. "The Council will not forgive you for what you have done."

He snorted. "They would have brought war to my doorstep anyway. The battle was inevitable."

"Still, you risk much for me."

"For you?" His brows furrowed, even as he snickered in arrogance. "As far as I am concerned, the vampires have already been defeated. They are without a handful of their precious Hunters and still you are here in my bed, carrying my offspring - a victory no battle could have ever accomplished."

Amarinda looked away in humiliation. Everything within her wanted to belong to him, but he would never mark her, and the motive behind why he offered her asylum was intended to hurt her family even more. She sank her teeth into her quivering lip and glanced at him over a shoulder. He considered her in silence, intently. She looked away, building the courage to speak. Her life was no longer about existing without her mate, but protecting the growing babe in her womb.

"When the child is born, what is to become of me?"

"You will stay here and see to its needs, of course." His tone booked no room for arguments. He considered her well.

She nibbled her lip and jutted her chin forward bravely. "How can you guarantee my protection against the horde after such a time has come?"

"No one knows that you are here."

"There is bound to be talk. Your men present tonight -"

"Will lose their heads if I hear any rumors."

"I cannot be kept locked away forever. The child cannot be kept in a prison."

"When did I mention being 'locked away'?" He grew irritable.

Still, she pressed. "How else are we to live here without being butchered? My scent will return the moment the babe is born. And what if the Hunters wage war before that? What will you tell your people when they look to you for an explanation?"

His eyes lowered dangerously. "Do not concern yourself with how I govern the masses. I told you that you will be kept safe. You have to trust me."

"Trust you?" Her voice pitched then, in hurt, in anger and in frustration. She sat erect and sank her fingers into the sheets in an attempt to curb the urge to slap his face. "Trust you, after you used me like a whore and planted a seed inside of me?" He clenched his jaw tightly and stood, his back turned as he made his way to the door. Amarinda followed viciously. "Trust you, after you refuse to bind yourself to me although you are my mate? Trust you, after you demanded a hundred heads from my own Coven?" He reached for the door. She slammed her fists into his back. "Trust you, when all you care about is hurting those I love? Tell me mongrel, why I should trust you!"

"You want a reason to trust me?!" he snarled, spinning to face her so quickly that she stumbled back. His fingers sank into her arms when he pulled her against his hard frame. Lips as hard as steel crushed hers. In agony she struggled, hating the tears that spilled from her eyes to be captured upon her abused tongue. There was nothing coaxing and tender about his touch. It was meant to subdue, to punish. The clothes were ripped from her back. She cried out in pain, in fear. His hands were larger, covered in a layer of hair, nails long and clawed.

"No!" Her hand connected with his face in a definite crack. Undeterred, he shoved her brutally. She gripped at her tattered dress and tripped on the hem. The floor rushed up to meet her. Derriere stinging almost as much as the pain in her chest, Amarinda's eyes flamed sliver. Primal rage engulfed her. From the time she could walk, her mother had instilled in her what it meant to be, not just a woman, but a lady. It was part of who she was. But living with this beast for over a month had taught her that sometimes, a lady just could not get a task accomplished.

He made to fall upon her, and the moment he attempted to pin her hands to the floor, her foot connected with his chest and sent him soaring back. He landed on his feet well enough, claws used as a grip upon the stone floor even as he slid back. She was on her feet at once. The rest of the dress was stripped away. Let him come, she thought in fury. She knew she could not defeat him. Her experience in battle came from instinct and whatever basic skill her brother had decided to amuse her with in her younger years. Still, she wanted to impart injury.

He got to his feet slowly, his face now giving way to the beast she had seen earlier. The sight of him thus, fully Were, made the heat of her blood burn, but not from rage. That she could desire him after all he had done disgusted her to no small degree.

"Do you really want to play rough Amarinda?" he growled. His voice came from somewhere deep within his stomach. Fire shot through her. She suppressed a shudder and strengthened her resolve.

"This is no game, dog!"

He lifted his head and sniffed with a purpose, then leered. "You reek of mating."

Humiliation forced her to flush; still, she refused to look away. "I often wonder if all Weres are good for a rump. I will be sure to sample the lot when I am through with you!"

Eyes glinting coldly, the smile left his face. "You will never be through with me. We are mated."

Bitter laughter hung heavy between them. "Mated? I think not mongrel. You are marked – I am not. Who exactly, is mated to whom?"

When he moved, she did not know, but one moment he was across the room, and the next his nose was almost pressed upon hers. The heavy breaths he took stirred the hair that had fallen into her face. She considered attacking again, but the length of his upper and lower canines that gently protruded from between parted lips numbed her stiff.

"Do not take license with your tongue leech, for I am sorely tempted to put a mark on you that will leave you with no doubt as to whom you belong to."

Her courage near evaporated then. There was only murder in his eyes. "If you hurt me, you will do nothing but confirm everything I have said," she braved tremulously. It was a miracle he understood the almost inaudible words, for he paused. Slowly, his features changed.

"You are brimming with wisdom tonight, are you not?" he mocked. She exhaled. Her heart had fallen somewhere at the base of her stomach during their exchange. She fought to replace it quickly, but she was too late. Already he pressed her body with his and forced her to step back until the back of her knees connected with the bed. She gasped and lifted her fists to his chest. His fingers locked around her wrists brutally. The message was clear – she could accept his gentle advance, or be forced to submit to his violence. "But it is not my intent to hurt you, leech. That is not my intent at all..."

Somehow, his fingers found the moisture between her thighs. Amarinda was forced to surrender yet again. Legs limp, she fell back. His weight crushed her into the downy mattress. No! No! No! No! Not again! Hot tears swamped her eyes. He did not love her! He did not want her! Each time she gave of herself, he took another part of her with him, and gave nothing in return save a moment of rapture. Struggling, she shook her head in defeat. He locked her beneath him with irons hands. A pulse throbbed at her center.

Dominance.

That is what he portrayed. And damn it all, there was nothing more she wanted than to surrender. As if reading her mind, he forced her legs apart. The rigid tip of his member sought entry. She shifted her hips in defiance.

Something akin to a smile brushed his lips, and he slipped a masterful hand between their bodies. The strum of his fingers shattered her, and in that moment, he plunged violently. She pushed him away one moment and pulled him close the next, all the while battling with the emotions warring within her chest and the pleasure he brought her. His lips demanded hers, forcing her to give what she swore she would not. His touch was everywhere, stoking the flames that threatened to engulf her, and when at last she shattered, he rode with her on the waves of ecstasy with growls of pleasure and male pride. Shuddering, vulnerable, she felt each pulse of his desire when he too, was pushed over the edge.

His forehead pressed to hers, Amarinda could not look at him. He kissed her upon the lips once, twice. She did not respond. His teasing nip was sharp and demanded a reaction. She hissed in pain.

"Do not ignore me," he said, and kissed her again. She responded in kind. He rocked his hips forward, still buried deep within her. When he lifted his head, it was to remove strands of hair from her flushed face.

Amarinda's face remained resigned when she finally spoke. "I am leaving come spring."

He froze. His burnt honey eyes instantly iced over. "And exactly how do you plan to do that?"

She turned away. "By walking through the gates."

His boom of laughter was as dry as her throat. "You cannot leave."

"And who will stop me?"

"I will not have you walk back into the same Coven who will -"

"I am not going home."

"I do not care where you think you will go. You are not leaving."

"Am I a prisoner again?" She sniffed in disgust. "I chose to return; therefore I can choose to leave." He chuckled softly and rolled away, casually locking his hands behind his head. Amarinda sat up and held the furs against her breasts. There was a relaxed, almost smug look on his face. "Did you not hear what I just said? I am leaving the first day of spring."

His eyes were closed lightly, a cold little smile on his face. "We shall see."

She huffed and turned away, her back toward him. Did he not take her serious? Did he think she would stay, to allow him to use her continually, to use their child as leverage against the Coven?

"If you leave me, I will hunt you down, catch you, and bring you back. Do not waste both our time." His voice lacked all warmth.

"I do not want to stay here any longer than I have to."

"You will stay for as long as I tell you."

"No."

She felt him move suddenly. With gentle fingers, he swept the mass of hair from her neck. Something rumbled, a snarl, a growl, she did not know, and before she could turn to see his intent, pain blinded her. Sharp teeth breeched the tender flesh of her neck and drew blood there. Paralyzed, she cried out in agony. He drew blood until she weakened, until her body fell limp against his form. His tongue stroked the wound carefully, tenderly. Beneath the stain of blood, the scars of his bite, of his mark, would never fade. Vision blurred from blood-loss, she found his intense gaze.

"That is your reason to trust me. Now we are both mated. You are mine and you're not going anywhere."

Chapter Ten

The Council Chamber was well illuminated and consisted of a rectangular table of impeccable craftsmanship that seated a score plus four. Presently, beneath the flickering candlelight of the chandelier above, shadows of only six blended against the rough stone walls. The Elder occupied the largest chair at the head, and considered the five somber faces before him. Macer, Mangus, Cassius and Silas were the sons his wife had borne him in recent years, with nothing but a few decades separating each birth. He prided himself on governing a close knit family, a strong family. He also prided himself on keeping the peace between Were and vampire. The orders of the Hunters were clear – keep the beasts away, and keep the Humans who lived through-out each allotted province safe. The Humans were, after all, their food supply and a potential threat. With a growing number of vampires, they needed to be careful to keep their race hidden. But the Weres – they were careless and destructive, and sought to protect the Humans from becoming a meal.

Demetri drummed his fingers against the table and said nothing. The capture of Amarinda was something that had shaken him to his core. She was the first and only female vampire born into their Coven. The twenty Covens that graced these lands held within them only four pure females – she being one of them, and the youngest at that. Now, to hear that this beast had claimed her, had impregnated her, and had the utter nerve to offer her asylum was ludicrous. And she, to openly admit to such a mating was more than just a shame. It was a debasement of her kind.

"Summon the Council Members," he intoned finally.

Macer, the eldest, cleared his throat with some effort. "My lord, the Council will no doubt advise war – if not with the intention of re-capturing her, then to show that such an insult carries grave consequence. But I implore you to consider encouraging them to find means of negotiation."

"Negotiation? And what, pray tell, do you propose we negotiate for?"

Macer's gasp wheezed though his teeth. "For Amarinda of course. Your grand-daughter."

Demetri leaned back with supreme patience. "Asylum was offered and she accepted. It appears to me that she wanted to stay."

"Only because she wanted to secure our means of return," Macer argued passionately. "We were outnumbered. They would have killed us all. It is my opinion that she was forced to make a difficult choice – if she returned, the offspring would have been executed and -"

"As it should be," he whipped.

Macer locked his fingers together, half appalled that his hands trembled. "My lord, I do not condone what she has chosen, and I do not understand why she has been mated to the enemy, but please, she is my daughter, your flesh and blood. There is no one present who wishes the Weres massacred for what they have done to her more than I. But not until she is home, safe."

Demetri ran his tongue along each fang, his tolerance slipping in slow degrees. "This Coven has survived for centuries because we have obeyed the laws – laws that were created to ensure our survival. She has allowed herself to be impregnated by an animal. That is unforgivable."

"She can be apart from him as much as you can be apart from Grandmother." This from a flaring Vilirus.

"Hold your tongue!" Macer snarled, casting his son an enraged glance.

"Father, this is not diplomacy," Vilirus returned, temper sparking. "It is our law that a mate cannot be separated one from the other. We have no control over who we are mated to. Mother was a human before she took her vows. Why then is being bound to a Were any different?"

"A Were is not a human," Demetri sought to explain. He lifted a bony finger and sniffed. "This is the type of disunity that will cause our ruin. They are the enemy – and she has been bred like a common dog. The Council will convene a week hence to decide upon the best course of action." He stood regally, slowly.

"She is my sister," Vilirus offered finally. "I will not be a part of her butcher."

Demetrio's eyes flashed in anger. "Thread carefully, my young Hunter, lest your words renege your vow to this Coven."

"Grandfather, do you not love her?"

An almost pained expression crossed his face, but was immediately shuttered. "Love and duty are not one in the same."

He turned away then, leaving them in silence. His walk through the manse brought him to the large room his mate occupied. She sat in silence on the enclosed balcony, face somber. The length of her beautiful silver hair dazzled in the moonlight. In the centuries passed, Demetri had never failed to acknowledge her timeless beauty. Still, it had been many long years since they had come to live in this Realm, and he knew that she was tired. Although her body did not age, there was an almost distant look in her eyes. He stroked her head tenderly. She looked up and smiled a small smile. That was the curse of being a vampire. He, too, felt the weariness. But having her at his side made forever bearable.

"There is news of the child?" she asked.

Demetri sat beside her and held her close, inhaling the unique scent that was hers. "Yes."

"Tell me."

His heavy sigh was full of agony. "They believe she has been mated to a Were."

She looked away, not at all seeming surprised at such a revelation. "What will you do?"

"Teach them a lesson they will not soon forget."

"And what of her?"

"She has chosen to stay with him. You know our laws – the price of treason is death."

Her lilac eyes met his then, full of quiet understanding. "Laws can be changed, can they not?" He did not look away. There was much sadness in her tone. "She is precious to me – the only daughter I have."

He stroked the side of her face tenderly. "What would you have me do Narelle? If I show any sympathy, the Council will think me weak. I am the only one willing to uphold our tradition of loyalty."

Her hands, warm and flushed from fresh blood, found his. "You are no longer a Faelian, Demetri. This is what we are. As your mate, I ask you, do not do this – for my sake."

He pinched the bridge of his nose impatiently. "It is our law. If I do not uphold that law, others will take it for granted."

"She is our daughter. One of our own. I want her home, with us."

He felt the stroke of her fingers caress the side of his face and opened his eyes to meet hers. Like large pools reflecting precious amethyst gems, they glistened with unshed tears. Something sharp pulled at the light pulse in his chest. He slipped his fingers through her straight hair and pulled her head closer to his. The kiss he placed on her pliant lips was nothing but a brush. "Then you shall have her returned to you. I swear it."

She nodded faintly and turned once again to consider the night. Demetri followed her gaze. He would do what he had to do to get her back, if only for Narelle. But he would never let the monstrosity growing in her womb survive.

****

Amalea shook her riot of red curls violently. "You cannot allow this," she directed. "You cannot allow him to do this to her!"

Macer tried his best to calm her. "I will do everything I can to see that she is not harmed my love. But it is treason to go against the order of the Council."

"I don't care about the Council!" she cried, tears flowing from her wide, luminous eyes. "She is my baby! They cannot hurt her!" His touch was meant to be comforting. Instead, it ignited her anger even more. "Did you reason with him? Did you tell him that everything happening to her is not her fault?"

"Of course I tried. But she accepted his proposal of asylum, Amalea. She has turned her back on her race for that animal."

"She is mated!" she near screamed. "Bound for life. What was he expected to do? Allow us to rip the child from her womb?"

Macer flung his hands skyward and turned to the view of the pasture. In the distance was the forest, then the mountains, nothing but vague shadows on the horizon. His daughter was there – his little girl was there.

"You have to do something," she demanded yet again.

He cut her a quelling glance. "What would you have me do? I cannot break my father's law. I will lose my life, and so will you."

"Your father is nothing but a tyrant!" His eyes flared as he turned to face her then. She whimpered, but bravely held her ground. "What happened to the man who defied him for me? Where is the man I fell in love with?"

"I am still that man," he said thickly. "But I am no longer young, or foolish. If I want her alive, I have to be more than just aggressive. I have to be smart." She sank her teeth into her lip and blinked. Another stream of tears fell. He advanced and relaxed considerably before pulling her trembling body in a tight embrace. "We will get her back my love. Do not weep."

Her sniffles were buried in his chest. "I do not want her back."

Stunned, he gasped and forced her to meet his eyes. "What?!"

"Do you not understand Mace? She is bound to him. They cannot be separated. If we bring her back, she will never forgive us, and the Council will see her child killed. How can she love us then? She will be just as lost to us. But that Were \- he will not hurt her."

"What then would you have me do?" He swallowed with great difficulty, dreading the words he knew would follow. There was no tremble in her voice when she spoke.

"Help them."

Chapter Eleven

Graeme faced a scowling Rhys and waited for his response. The Were turned his back abruptly and contemplated the work being done on the outer walls of the stronghold. Graeme gave him time to think it over.

In the days passed, Amarinda's stomach had grown considerably. It was now two weeks since he marked her his – from the moment his venom had entered her blood stream, the babe within her grew rapidly. Now, a very obvious belly protruded. He spent countless nights marveling over such a miracle. But awe was not the only emotion that swept him. Fear like he had never before known forced him to consider now the safety of his family. With the rapid development of the unborn child, they had no idea as to when she would go into the pains of labor. A child was not something he could keep concealed inevitably – and neither was a mate. His only alternative was to take her across the moors, and to the very village he had grown up in. The cottage his father had secured for his now deceased mother was there, abandoned. Only human occupants resided in the glen. It was too far into his territory for him to be concerned about Hunters, and secure enough not to warrant visits from the Scouts very often. She would be safe.

Unfortunately, he could not make the journey with her. Hunters had been spotted lingering on the outskirts of the boarder. He had ordered the Scouts tripled, and although there was not yet trouble, it was only a matter of time before Hunter or Were did something stupid. The war he had so foolishly anticipated proved more of a nuisance now than anything else.

He contemplated the rigid set of Rhys' shoulders and exhaled a heavy sigh. He had no right to ask this of his friend. Already the man had done too much. But Graeme's absence from the horde would prove detrimental if the Hunters attacked when he was not present. Rhys on the other hand, could get her to the village and no one would bat an eye. Rhys, despite his sense of higher consciousness, was a loyal friend.

"When this is over, I am leaving."

Stunned, Graeme frowned. "Do not be ridiculous. Without the horde you will be vulnerable."

The man flashed him an impatient glance. "I am vulnerable if I help you, and yet I still do."

Graeme folded his arms across his chest and shook his head heavily. "I apologize that you are caught in the middle of this, but there is none other I trust with her life."

Rhys snickered. "I do not like your vampire mate. Still, I suppose none of this could have been avoided."

The quiet resignation in his voice reassured Graeme even more. "I do not want you to leave. There is a place for you here."

Rhys smiled a bitter smile. "No. I do not agree with this – deceiving the horde, calling war on ourselves. You do what you have to for your mate, to see that she is well protected, and I do what I must. After this battle is over, if I live to see this thing that you are about accomplished, I will move on."

Graeme nodded understanding. He could not fault Rhys his decision to leave, and he could not fault him his distaste for Amarinda. From birth they had been taught that vampires were demons that needed to feed on human blood in order to survive. How exactly the feud between the two species began, he did not know. Right then however, all that mattered was keeping her protected from the masses, and the Hunters.

"When do we leave?" Rhys voice took on a businesslike note once again – a General awaiting his instruction.

Graeme sighed. "Tomorrow at daybreak. You will travel during the daylight hours. The Scouts will not be suspicious of one that travels with a pregnant female, so there should be no trouble."

Rhys compressed his lips in a thin line, but nodded all the same. "What of food? It is a four day ride to the glen. If she hunts there, the people are bound to notice."

Graeme had already considered that. "You will stay with her." Rhys inhaled sharply, about to protest. He beat him to it swiftly. "She needs sustenance. There is livestock at the village. Her thirst grows with each passing day. She must be fed."

"But the people -"

"Will be none the wiser if things are done discreetly."

Rhys' jaw clenched. "I hope you know what you are doing Graeme."

"This will work."

"And if it does not? What if her presence is discovered by the Scouts? Or the Hunters?"

"Then head for the Grampian Pass."

Rhys face paled considerably. "Are you insane? No one has used that bridge in decades and for good reason."

Graeme stood and rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You are an exceptional general, and an even better friend. It is imperative you do everything in your power to secure her life. When the battle is over, I will find you."

Rhys nodded understanding and hesitated before turning away. Graeme exhaled heavily and strode through the doorway that led into the main hall. There was a light tension in the atmosphere, as if all of the men and women who went about their tasks suspected his intent. Still, they knew that something monumental was happening. Why else would the Scouts be guarding the stronghold so viciously? Why else would they work so tirelessly night and day to ensure that the outer walls were secured, and the entrance of the inner gate was thoroughly reinforced? The muscle in his jaw ticked several times before he ventured into the yard. The sun sank low in the western sky, caught between the wintry haze of steel blue skies and the dusky horizon.

The air had lost some of its sting, a testament that spring would soon come. The journey that was required of Amarinda was a treacherous one, especially given her present condition. Still, there was no one short of himself he trusted more than Rhys. With each passing day he grew restless. The vampires would attack soon. They would brave suicide and attempt to breech the stone walls of the fortress...and he would have to explain to the masses why. Graeme was not fool enough to believe that there would be any consideration to be had if the truth were told. They would consider the mating a betrayal, and would kill them all. The thought of his offspring harmed caused an intangible ache somewhere in the center of his chest. Uncomfortably he rubbed the area and huffed, grieved that he must manipulate those that trusted him the most to protect his family.

So caught up in thought he did not notice the man that approached until he was standing three feet away. Tall and stocky, Graeme's brows furrowed as he tried to call into memory the stranger. He appeared to be as any other warrior – scared and weary. Still, his hands were fisted and his shoulders tense. The hackles on the back of his neck stood an end. The pair of deep set brown eyes that met his were not those of a Were. This man was human. And he was very afraid.

"Who do you seek?"

The stranger's eyes darted away before he dared to take another step. "Graeme."

"You've found him." He swallowed with some difficulty and glanced over his shoulder. Graeme frowned and followed his gaze before shifting impatiently. "What is it that you want man?"

"I've been asked to deliver a message for you, from the woman's family."

Graeme nodded toward the hall in a gesture for him to follow. Enclosed once more in the privacy of the solar he turned to his guest abruptly. "I am listening."

The man shifted this way and that before finally scratching behind his head nervously. "Her father wants a meeting tonight – the witching hour at the same location as before."

Graeme studied him well, arms folded across the width of his chest. "Of what assurance can you give that this meeting will not be met with treachery?"

He searched thoroughly in the pocket of his leather trousers and presented a heavy metal ring that boasted the Cronus seal in exquisite detail. Graeme held it tightly for a brief moment before turning aside.

"What was the price for coming here?" he queried by the way.

The man's voice cracked only once. "That my family be spared."

Graeme grunted and nodded slowly. "Break bread with us tonight. You are safe here. Tomorrow you will return."

The messenger nodded and turned away anxiously before hustling out the room. Darkness descended in slow degrees. His thoughts were centered on what he must do tonight. There was the distinct possibility that he just might be walking into a trap. He turned away and studied the emblem in the fading sunlight. He would not be naive and put trust in the vampires' gesture of goodwill. Decision made, he ventured into the dining room and gestured for the General to join him on the stair. Rhys opened his mouth to protest then shut it just as quickly when all was explained.

"There was almost a blood-bath the last time," he muttered instead. "I do not understand his need for secrecy. Why send the human when thus far they have been using their own emissaries? I do not like the scent of this."

Graeme nodded. "Nor do I. But I am curious, and if they are focused on the meeting, we shall take the opportunity to move her tonight."

Rhys' sigh resonated in the still air. "It is a trap."

"I shall be well prepared for such."

The man nodded and stiffened, his face a mask of determination. "If you insist that you must go, then let me accompany you."

Graeme laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and offered what could have passed as a smile. "You are entrusted with the most important part of this plan. If it is indeed a trap, and I have no doubt that it is, then she would be safe away from here and the hunters, if only until I can think of something more...permanent. Gather the men you trust. Tell them only what is necessary and have them await my summons at midnight. You leave with her posthaste."

Rhys ground his teeth and turned away, his controlled fury matching the stubborn set of his shoulders. Graeme took the winding stairwell two at a time. He found her brushing the tangles out of her lustrous curls. She met his eyes in the mirror and her brows furrowed at the concern she read on his face. Slowly, the brush was laid aside.

"Something is amiss."

He wasted no time on pleasantries. "Plans have been changed. You leave within the hour."

Stunned, she rose to her feet. His eyes fell to the swell of her stomach. Beneath the fall of fabric, the movement of the babe was prominent. "One night can hardly make a difference."

"War may be upon us. You need to travel while you can. Rhys will see you settled well, and will stay with you until I join you."

Concern shadowed her face. Her eyes scanned his features for several long moments, looking for more detail than he offered. The determined set of his jaw convinced her. She nodded compliance and turned to gather the thick furs that were littered across the bed. The slight tremble of her hand was not lost to his sharp eyes. "You will kill many of them...my family..."

He heard the pitch of her voice and moved to stand behind her. "They come for you. I cannot let that happen. They will kill every man, woman and child within these walls and raze the castle to the ground. It is my duty to protect what belongs to me."

"The horde belonged to you before I did." Her broken whisper was met with tears. Graeme clenched his jaw impatiently. "So many lives will be lost...because of my decision to stay."

"It was not my decision to be mated to a vampire, but here you are." He threaded his fingers through her hair and studied her face thoroughly. "I do what I must."

"And the horde? The women? The children?"

"The women and children will be taken through the glen and to the coast. There is another village there." Her eyes fell and she shuddered unwillingly. "Do not be concerned Amarinda."

"You ask the impossible. I do not know to whom my loyalty should belong. You will kill many of my people... my brother, my uncles...and for that I should hate you. But if you die..." She hiccupped and pulled the fur across her shoulders. The tightening of his chest forced that unwanted ache in the region of his heart once more, and he grunted something non-committal before heading toward the door.

"Your loyalty belongs to me," he announced stiffly. The hinges creaked ever so gently. "Do not forget that."

She lifted her head and met his stubborn stare before allowing him to escort her out of the room, the first time she had left it's confinement since her capture those many months ago.

Chapter Twelve

Thunderclouds formed a thick canopy, hiding the luminance of the moon. In the inky darkness of the forest the Weres heard the thunder of hoof beats long before the rider was spotted, guiding the mount with a careless ease that forced a suspicious frown upon Graeme's brow. Fully clad in armor, complete with helmet and visor, there was no doubt that their visitor was indeed a vampire. The scent of putrid flesh made his nostrils flare. Even from his distance, he noted that the Hunter was small, no bigger than a teenage lad. His men did not make to move, but awaited his instruction. They were a precaution in the event that the meeting was not as honorable as was intended. Thus far, no other sound could be heard. He motioned for them to stand down and out of sight before stepping into the clearing. Upon spotting him the Hunter reigned in swiftly. The horse reared and danced beneath the tense grip that was applied to the reigns. Graeme studied the man well, his eyes flaming orange in the darkness, gaze sly.

"You are not the one called Macer," he announced smoothly. "For your deceit alone I should have you killed."

The soft gasp that was elicited forced him to pause. His gaze fell suddenly to the slender legs that were parted wide to accommodate the width of the saddle and the tiny foot in the stirrup. Suspicion and disbelief forced his feet to move. His sudden motion spooked the mount and it reared. The rider cried out in surprise and clutched onto the animal's neck to prevent being thrown. Graeme snagged the bridle and steadied the beast swiftly before all but dragging the rider from the saddle. Even as he felt the light weight in his arms he knew. The moment he tore the helmet away, he stopped breathing in rage.

A female!

Fingers as hard as steel sank themselves into her arms and lifted her off the ground. "What form of treachery is this?!"

Hot tears stung her eyes, and even in his rage he seemed to recognize the title of her nose and the shape of her face. Slowly, carefully, he put her away from his form and took a cautious step back. His eyes swept the woods and he motioned to the Weres that surrounded him to search the area.

"You..." he began, hesitating as he considered the moisture in her eyes. Thick red hair crowned her head and fell to the dip of her back. Her skin was timeless, her eyes fringed with thick lashes. She was a stunning beauty to be sure...and she bore a striking resemblance to Amarinda. "You are her sister?"

She shook her head quickly. When she spoke, it was with a husky voice that betrayed the years her face did not show. "Her mother."

Confusion marked his face then, and he clenched his jaw in anger. "You sent the missive. Why? If your mate discovers that you have come here there will be mass murder!"

"I am here to help you."

Exasperated, he shook his head in finality. "Get on your horse and ride back to the Coven woman! You were a fool to come here!"

"I will gladly die a fool to protect my daughter!"

"Your daughter does not need protection from me!" he snarled. The guttural baritone of his voice forced her to whimper, but she stiffened her spine and met his gaze head on.

"I am well aware of that. Now if you will just get a hold of your temper for a moment I will explain why I have lured you here falsely." He turned away, his shoulders taut. "The Council has convened. All has been decided." When he said nothing, she continued. "The Hunters have already left the Covens. They come from the north."

He turned to meet her wide eyes and held his breath. "North?" he croaked thickly. "Tis impossible. There is nothing north but highlands and rock. Nowhere to hide from the sun. They will never make it."

"They left two days ago, keeping to the river where the soil is moist and easy to dig." Stunned, he shook his head, panic rising in his chest. If what she said was to be believed, they would cross paths with Rhys and Amarinda. He would die, and she would be taken. The heavy breaths he sucked in burned his lungs fiercely. Still, she continued. "You need to get her away from the castle this very moment. I will accompany her to wherever you desire her to go until my husband comes for me, and until you come for her."

A chilled wind blew and whipped the length of hair in his face, masking the pain that twisted his features. "She left this very evening to a village hidden in the hills...to the north."

The woman choked on her spittle and was at his side in a flash, her eyes large and imploring. "My husband, my son, they will do anything you ask to help you save her...."

He moved quickly now, taking hold of the mount and leading it to where she stood.

"I will give my life for hers."

She shuddered. Instinctively, he tore the fur from his back and draped it around her shoulders. She paused and considered him in the darkness before allowing him to assist her to mount. "Tell your mate it would be wise to join the ranks in the event that I am cut down in battle." She nodded and made to kick the mount into a gallop, but he held the bridle sure. "And you will give me your word that the babe growing within her belly will be protected."

Another bout of tears swamped her eyes and she nodded quickly. "I swear it." Her reply seemed to have satisfied him, for he retrieved the helmet and presented it to her. At his back and gestured for two of his men. "See that she is delivered safely. She is under my protection."

He did not wait to see his orders carried out, but turned to the path that lead to the castle and whistled for his mount. The horse cantered toward him and snickered at his warm touch. The first drop of rain splashed upon his face, but he did not feel the icy chill and penetrated deep in the pores of his skin, nor did he feel the hesitance of his men as they accompanied him on his vicious ride to the stronghold. The only thing he felt slowly icing over the pulse in his chest was unmasked fear for his family.

****

Rhys stoked the fire and wished for the hundredth time that night for her to shut up. Incessantly she talked, about her family, about Graeme, about the babe. He had ceased to respond a long while now, hoping she would get the idea that he had no interest in sharing conversation. The lass was dense, to be sure. Even if she were not a vampire, he could not see how any man in his right mind might be attracted to such.

"How long before we get there?" she inquired for the third time. He cut her a cold glance and clenched his jaw even tighter. She frowned and sank herself deeper into the furs. "It is cold. Could you not make a bigger fire?"

"Good God woman, do you always talk this much?" he snapped irritably.

She cut him a smile that spoke volumes and forced him to turn back to the fire. Deliberately, he tossed in another log. The embers scattered this way and that. She hissed as a tiny flame touched her skin and shot him a murderous glance. It was his turn to look snide.

"Are you always this pleasant?" she inquired sweetly, rubbing a finger over the sting. "It leaves me with no doubt as to why you are not mated."

"It matters not to me your opinion vampire."

"My name is Amarinda," she enlightened flippantly. "You say vampire as if it's a curse."

He snorted an agreement and offered nothing more. When all of ten seconds passed, she spoke again. "Tell me of Graeme then, since he seems to be in both our interest."

For a moment he considered refusing, but his heavy shoulders shrugged instead. "He is a good man, a feared Were – a respected one."

"He never speaks of his parents," she hinted softly.

Rhys shook his head before stoking the fire again. "It is not my place to speak of such things."

"What does your place allow you to speak of then?"

"I would rather not speak at all."

She considered him from the comfort of her furs and smiled. Rhys could almost sense the cat like contentment she felt and resented her for it even more. "You do not like me, but you will risk your life to see me safe. Why?"

"I am loyal to Graeme. How I feel about you has nothing to do with that."

"He must be a very good man to warrant such honor from you."

He met her eyes and paused for a long moment before finally speaking again. "He is. I charge you to remember that. Remember what you have cost him, what you are going to cost him when your Coven comes looking for you. Remember that he has betrayed all that he loves, for you."

Her head fell forward, the hair shielding her eyes. Rhys saw her cheeks flush and ignored her fully.

"It was never my intent to hurt you, or the horde," she finally croaked. "But none of us can choose to whom we are mated. One day, you will understand."

"To be mated to a vampire, I will never understand."

She turned away, her back facing him, her hand laid protectively over her stomach. Rhys cut her another glance, his face stiff. He would not again allow himself to be caught in a verbal battle with her. Of course this was not her fault. She did not ask to be captured. She did not ask to be mated, and neither did Graeme. Still, he needed time to come to terms with the fact that Graeme might not be the only Were to be mated to a vampire. And how would the masses react to such a revelation? He swallowed hard and shook his head at the irony of it all. If he were ever mated to a vampire, he would be better off slitting his own throat.

****

Rain fell throughout the following day. Even clad beneath the furs Rhys could hear her teeth chatter. He glanced at the sky and did not think to pause in their journey. He had pushed hard, wanting to get to the safety of the village before nightfall. The rain however had slowed their gait so that even now as the sun sank low into the western sky, they still had many miles to cover. He spared a glance toward his charge and waited as her mount joined his.

"Seven more miles before we arrive," he announced matter of fact. She huddled deeper into the wet furs and shook her head pitifully.

"I cannot."

Rhys studied the sky once more. There was nowhere to take shelter, and the drops fell in stinging sheets. She sneezed in the cuff of her hand for several moments and sniffled, and he sighed heavily. "There is nowhere to rest lass. We are in the open, exposed to the elements and all kinds of danger. We must keep moving."

"My legs hurt, I am cold, and I have not felt the babe move since dawn. Please, let us stop."

His eyes fell to her protruding belly and the paleness of her cheeks. If anything happened to her or the babe in his care, Graeme would never forgive him. "We push on."

"Ash!" Her sharp cry forced him to face her again. This time, the concern on his face was genuine.

"What is it?"

Hand clutched to the bulge before her, she sniffled, eyes wide and reflecting only worry. "I felt something."

Annoyed, he aimed a dark glower toward her. "Aye, babes have been known to move. You said so yourself."

"Not like this. It hurt."

"Then it's getting bigger."

"Bigger?"

"Oh aye. Were pups weigh at least nine or ten pounds at birth. Didn't Graeme tell you?"

She fell silent instantly. Rhys bit his inner lip to hide a smile of victory until she cried out again minutes later. "What?" He snapped in irritation as he spun around in his saddle - and felt the blood drain from his face. In the darkness figures moved swiftly, blurs of shadow against the quickly darkening sky. In an instant he scanned the hillside, looking for the safest place for her to hide. There was nothing but rock and hill, and hundreds of valleys. He was on his feet and out of his shirt in a flash. The change came so suddenly he heard Amarinda's frightened gasp, felt her panic and uncertainty.

"We are being followed," he began thickly, eyes blazing amber. "Ride hard vampire. The Hunters are here."

She did not have to be told twice, but kicked the mount into a gallop. Rhys retrieved the length of a whip from this saddle and sniffed the air expectantly. Beneath his feet, now bare of boots, he felt soft rumbles of the cold earth hum with life through the thick layers of skin and hair beneath his feet. In the dark they were nothing but moving shadows – darkness within the dark. He caught the scent of filth, and his eyes burned. Fifty yards away, three of them rushed forward with the speed of lightening, one moment there, the next moment, upon him. Rhys battled vampires all his life, had learned their methods of attack from study and experience. He had trained the men, had bred an expert horde of fighters that were second to none in hand to hand combat against a vampire. But this he had saved for a special occasion. The whip he began to banish was an easy ten feet long. One foot from the bone and leather handle that was woven with horses hair, it became three individual lengths, each tipped with the blade of a scythe, sharpened and honed to perfection.

With rhythm borne of years of practice and perfection, he waited, dancing the weapon upon the rise and fall of the wind and the motion of his own body as he stepped forward. The Hunters surrounded him carefully, now suddenly still and focused upon him, swords drawn, and blood in their eyes. Rhys closed his eyes, and heard, felt the slightest shift in the wind when they moved forward as one. In that split second he swung the blades beneath him as he leapt impossibly high. Blood stained the ground where he landed mere seconds later. The three decapitated bodies were at his feet, the heads pitched and lost amongst the rocks and tufts of grass that had survived the winter months. He grunted his satisfaction and glanced around, only to discover that his horse was nowhere to be seen.

Peeved, he retrieved the swords from cold, lifeless fingers and scanned the hillsides. There was no sign of the vampire or the mount. Carefully, he fell to his knee and studied the tracks well. That was when thunder echoed across the sky. It would not be long before the full force of the storm would be felt. He hoped he found her before then.

Chapter Thirteen

Amarinda rode until she was forced to slow the horse to a steady walk. With each step a pain as sharp as a dagger pierced her lower abdomen so much so around the midnight hour she forced herself to slip out of the saddle. Sweat matted her brow, and she had not fed since she left the stronghold. Something was wrong. The fact that she was alone did not help the vulnerability she bore. The pain eased slowly, and for the moment she breathed in the cold air, trying to lay as comfortable as possible half concealed in the trees she had blindly ridden into. At the time and in her pain it had seemed a safe place to hide – until she heard the first high pitched scream that sliced through the otherwise still night. Shocked, she watched in distress as the horse reared and bolted. The pain in her stomach began again, a dull pulse that built to a tearing sensation. Tongue between her teeth, she bit hard. Blood flooded her mouth. Tears stung her eyes. It became worse with each passing moment. And just as it came, it faded, allowing her another moment of rest. That was when she focused on the screams and the smell of fire. Awkwardly she craned her neck and half crawled, half pulled herself upon the rock-face. Through the trees, unknown to her, there was a village. And it was under attack. Women and children ran. Men and were cut down swiftly. Fire blazed, projecting heat that was not available ten minutes before. In the chaos her sensitive ears could hear the screams of babies. Her heart tightened in agony the same moment her stomach clenched again. She opened her mouth and screamed with them, for even in her distress she noted that the attackers were not human or Were, but vampire. Her very own race. Fingers outstretched, she opened her mouth again, willing the massacre to stop, wishing suddenly that the Fates had never erred in mating her so unjustly.

"Do you see the handiwork of your precious Hunters?" So caught up in grief and her own pain, she did not hear Rhys approach. "The men had women here...some had children. Boys to carry on their names." She crumpled and clutched her stomach, hollering in the pain that seized her again, shedding tears for the sons and daughters being killed. Rhys bundled the fur about her body and lifted her effortlessly to his chest, his face a mask of determination. "If it were up to me vampire, I would hand you over to your Coven this instant."

"They will stop if you do," she whimpered, weeping for the innocent, for herself. "Please, they will stop..."

He shook his head in a sorrowful manner that did not become his frown. "No. They will not."

The pain seized her again, and she groaned and muttered her apologies in agony. For a long time she heard the cries of the people until there was none left, for the Hunters were thorough, and Rhys had taken her far into the hills where the cold was intense and the mountains dangerous. With each step he took, she sank deeper into the fur. When much time had passed and the night turned to day, Amarinda realized that she had slept, and he had not stopped to rest. He did not speak, did not look at her and did not acknowledge that he even held her heavy weight for staggeringly long hours. When the noon hour drew near they rested. That was when the fever set in.

****

Rhys raked numb fingers through his hair and cursed again. Frustrated, he paced for a few feet before her prostrate form on the ground back and forth until the grass had become trodden to the point of death. Each time she cried out, it became more intense. The babe was coming soon, and they were out in the open, in the cold, with Hunters close by and soon, the scent of blood on the wind. Why had he ever agreed to this? He should have been the one to stay with the Scouts. Rhys had never been in a situation where he did not know what the next step was. As he stood before her, half disgusted that he should be there to witness the birth of a child born of Were blood from a vampire female, it was fear that made the skin on his body pull tight and his heart pound just a little faster in his chest. Curse his loyalty to Graeme! She hollered again, and this time there was a gush of blood and water. Stunned, he froze.

"Rhys..." Her voice was a mixture of panic and concern. Still, he could not move. Beneath her the grass was wet with the reality of it all. "Rhys!"

His eyes snapped up to hers and cleared instantly. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes sunken from pain and stress. Still, she was coherent – more so than he.

"Everything is wet and cold. When the babe is born, you must keep it warm."

A heavy frown pleated his brow, but the urgency of the situation forced him to nod. Pain glazed her eyes once more. He turned around abruptly, unable to see the distress that crossed her features, unable to shut out the sound of her cries. Minutes pressed on, and it seemed like forever before a sharp little squeal pierced through the chill of the evening. His pores rose, and his hands fisted in relief. He did not make to turn around, unsure of what was expected of him. It was several seconds of the babe crying before he cocked his head to listen for her breathing.

"Are you alive?" he managed to croak finally.

Her chuckle was weak but reassuring. "Yes...but I must ask you to be a nurse-maid and do what I cannot."

Stiffening his spine, he faced her. The child was held to a breast, suckling greedily. Thick black hair crowned its head, and it shivered from the cold with a mixture of sudden outbursts of protest and screams in-between gulps. Rhys considered the scene before him and felt shaken to his core. The vampire had just birthed the first of a new race – a new species. She looked up then and graced him with a beautiful smile, one that spoke the words of gratitude she did not say. Rhys stepped forward awkwardly and studied the pair as something strange.

"A boy," she offered, dislodging the child from her breast to present him in all his naked glory. "And he is more cold than hungry."

Instantly, Rhys removed his fur and shirt and wrapped the babe snugly. He sheltered him in the crook of his arm upon the heat of his hair and chest – and swallowed with difficulty. The heartbeat that thundered there was swift and strong, and as he looked up, he considered the dusk and the mountains they still had to face. The Grampian Pass was less than two miles away. They needed to continue moving. Just as he was about to speak, the wind lifted, and putrid flesh stained the air. Hackles raised, he deposited the child in her arms before she could voice a protest and motioned for her to be still. Carefully, he scanned the moor, testing the air in small sniffs, ears alert. There was nothing but the damp air.

"We have to go – now." She gasped and struggled to stand, only to stagger and fall. Rhys was at her side in a flash. "This is not the time for weakness vampire. You have to get up."

"I cannot!" she snapped, clutching the child and her midriff. "I just had a baby you fool! I am weak and I have not fed in almost two days!"

Rhys snarled and drew the knife that was strapped to his calf. "Open your mouth!"

Shocked, she complied, and watched as he opened the flesh of his palm and squeezed generously into her mouth. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and sighed in contentment. Rhys considered her well before guiding her to the rocky path. Their steps were swift and unfailing, him alternating between taking the lead and falling back to ensure that their tracks were covered. Darkness was fully upon them by the time they arrived at the Pass. This high up, a light snow still brushed the ground.

"The bridge," he motioned softly. She took one look at the wooden structure and shook her head instantly. Rhys sank his fingers into her arm and pushed her forward impatiently. He had no doubt that they had been followed, and he knew that the Hunters waited. He would make a stand here, but she needed to get to safety. "When you are safely across, I will join you." Eyes wide, she ventured, clutching the babe to her breast and holding onto the half rotted rope awkwardly as she tested the narrow pieces of wood she stepped upon. The wind slapped hair into her eyes and rocked the structure precariously so that she slipped more than once. Rhys waited patiently, his back toward the bridge, eyes scanning the sparse trees ahead. The fog came in thick, rising from the valley in heavy curtains that did not make recognition easy. He had not lost the scent of the Hunters, and self-preservation demanded that he attempt to cross as well, but if they were attacked on the unstable bridge, there was no telling if or when it would break apart.

Snow and stone crunched beneath his feet as he stepped back, but it wasn't until he had come to the edge of the cliff did he hear her panicked voice.

"Please..."

Amarinda hugged the infant tightly to her chest in a feeble attempt to protect him from what was to come. Before her a Hunter stood, poised and waiting. Weapon in hand, its blade grazed the ground as he brought it up ever so slowly. She whimpered and shook her head, unable to force the words from her tight throat. The wind took strands of ash blond hair into his face and eyes – eyes that were as cold as the steel in his hand. This was not a Hunter from her Coven she knew. This Hunter bore no relation to her. There was no mercy to be had tonight.

"You cannot have my son," she declared in a shaking whisper. Behind her she heard a beastly cry of agony and knew that he was not the only one. The clank of steel and groans echoed in the valley. Trembling, she braved a step back, her eyes peeled upon the Hunter before her. He had yet to move, considering her with an expressionless countenance that gathered to a mild frown only when her back connected with something large and very hard. Sparing a glance up, she noted Rhys – and cried out in shock.

He was bathed in blood. His chest boasted many wounds, most of which were neat, deep incisions, the trademark of the Hunters. His face was swollen and drenched in blood. Even as he stood there, heaving in breaths, she heard the gurgle of blood echo in his lungs and knew that he would die. Hot tears stung her eyes – of remorse and rage. Amber eyes met hers as he fell to his knees. There was no strength left within his body. Unspeaking, he toppled over, facedown at her feet.

"He is not yet dead."

So stunned she had not noticed the several others that had joined them from behind his prone form. A pool of blood seeped from beneath his body and spread swiftly in the snow.

"Throw him over," the Hunter before her intoned. Just as quickly, an unidentified foot connected with his limp midriff. He disappeared into the fog below. Amarinda whimpered helplessly moments before the child was torn from her embrace. "And this."

"Nooo!" she screamed, lunging forward. The child wailed at the sudden movement and the cold wind that lashed his fragile body. "Oh please! Please do not kill my baby!"

The infants cry echoed throughout the mountain side. The Hunter considered her well. "Bring her."

She retaliated, swinging her fist and catching one in the jaw. He snarled and returned the gesture. She spat blood and coughed pitifully. Just at that moment, the child was flung into the darkness, it's screams slowly fading until she heard nothing .

Weak with grief, she could not bring herself to move. Hot tears burned her throat, so much so that when she finally gave into the need to weep, the Hunters dragged her to her feet. She was lead blindly through snow and across rocks, and when the pain in her chest proved too intense to bear, everything thankfully went black.

Chapter Fourteen

Graeme smelled blood on the wind long before he arrived at the village. Everything was destroyed. A thick cloud of smoke and ash concealed the first brush of dawn that staggered awake beyond the trees. The breaths he heaved burned his nostrils and forced the pain in his chest to expand. He was too late.

At his back the handful of men he selected sat upon their mounts in stoic silence for the moment – until one of them dismounted and stumbled upon a pile of wood ash not ten feet away. Graeme did not look at him as his bellow of anguish echoed in the overcast sky. His tears were his alone, just as the agony that sliced through Graeme was not to be shared. He nudged his mount forward and took his time about walking through the debris. The men did not venture.

At the center of the village where the old stone well still stood, a pile of bodies was left to burn. Graeme noted dismembered forms of men, women and children. Smoke still rose from the heap where embers had yet to extinguish. Weak, he struggled to keep his back erect as he continued on. On the outskirts of the village he noted several haphazard tracks in the blood-stained earth. Ever so slowly he returned to the men, only to find the few of them who indeed had families there searching for the bodies of loved ones.

For two days he had waited upon an attack that never came. That was when he suspected she had been captured. The Hunters would not risk more of their numbers if they already retrieved what they marched for in the first place. Numb, he considered the men before him and felt the weight of their despair burdened upon his shoulders. They did not know why the Hunters had done this, did not understand the need for war when thus far, they had been living in relative peace with the Covens. Still, they faced him, ready for battle. And he would risk their very lives for his vampire mate.

It was the worst betrayal.

"Those of you who have lost a child, or a woman, find your dead and bury them. And if you do not wish to continue this ride, find your families at the coast and protect them there."

They hesitated, each pair of eyes asking the question no man would voice. Graeme presented them with his back and nudged his mount forward, barely relieved when it was discovered that only ten had turned back. With fifty strong, he pressed on, thankful that more than a hundred and fifty had been left behind to defend the castle. Close to noon they arrived at the Grampian Pass. The sharp rock at the edge of the cliff face was stained with blood, Hunter and Were. Graeme felt his heart thunder just a little faster as a glimmer of hope flickered in his chest. He dismounted swiftly and stepped forward. The tightly woven rope that had held the bridge taut was cut clean through. He glanced into the valley and considered the many sharp rocks beneath. Slowly, he shrugged the fur from his shoulders and handed over the reins of his mount.

His men said nothing as they watched him make the precarious descent. The chilled wind slapped hair into his face and eyes, and with each leap lower he paused to gently sniff the air-currents. Twenty feet from the ground, he paused to listen. There was nothing save his own ragged breaths of anxiety. The final leap brought him to his knees, and when he stood it was to survey the rocks. He moved slowly, half afraid of what he might find when his search was over, his eyes and ears sharp. Weakly, in the silence, there was a muffled groan. Claws extended, he moved forward, scenting the wind until he came upon the body of Rhys. The man lay upon his side, back bare to the cold chill of the wind.

"Rhys!" he exclaimed, so relieved that his voice trembled. He rushed toward him and reached forward to clutch his shoulder. "Rhys, by the gods I thought you were dead!"

Moss green eyes flecked in gold considered him, unfocused and dazed for a second before recognition cleared the fog from his face. "Graeme?"

"Aye, tis me."

"I think I broke all of my bones," he greeted with a hoarse cough.

Graeme nodded, probing along his body with a steady hand. "Aye, but you're healing. Can you not move?"

The man shook his head and swallowed hard before he continued. "The Hunters came."

Graeme's knees could no longer support his weight. He sat beside him heavily and braced himself for the worst. "Did they kill her?"

Rhys licked his dried, cracked lips. "I do not know lad. But..."

Graeme watched as he forced himself to roll upon his back. In his arms, held close to the warmth of his chest, caked in blood and dirt and streaks of tears, was a baby. Graeme's eyes filled with hot tears and left him weaker than any wound ever had. Shaking, he reached forward to retrieve the babe. Clear eyes met his, a pristine blue that reminded him of a summer's sky. Awkwardly, he cradled the child in his arms and studied him from the crop of thick black hair atop his head to the ten very cold toes he stretched. Emotion swept him, and he snagged the length of hair upon his friends head to pull him forward until their foreheads kissed.

"You have saved the life of my son," he croaked thickly.

Rhys cleared his throat and attempted to speak once more. "If you do not get us out of the cold we will both die and my effort will have been in vain."

Graeme laughed and stood on unstable knees before he turned toward the men high above. "Come down and help us men! I have found two alive!"

****

Several men joined then in the ravine carrying enough rope to make a harness that would keep Rhys strapped to the wooden pallet they had managed to put together. Graeme secured the child to his chest with his sweat-stained shirt and fur, and was the last to make the treacherous climb. The rest of the men greeted their General good-naturedly, some even joking that he had become a hero for saving the life of a wee babe. No one questioned why their leader held the child so protectively in his arms, nor did they murmur among themselves when he saw it fit to ride into vampire territory and take shelter in one of the villages. It was Rhys who finally cut him a curious glance when they rested in the evening.

"I know you want to ask, so just say it," Graeme muttered behind a tankard of ale. They sat before a roaring fire in the only tavern the village boasted. Most of the men had already found rooms or places on the floor to rest their heads, and only a few customers were left, chatting softly in the dim lights. Those toppled over from excess drink slumbered in a symphony of coughs and snores.

Rhys shrugged his good shoulder and shook his head. "Nay. I've come up with my own theory."

Graeme cocked a half-amused brow. "Aye?"

"Oh aye. The sight of your son has muddled your senses is what it is."

Graeme took another deep gulp of ale and glanced over to where a buxom wet nurse in her late thirties fed his son. For the price of a few gold pieces, she would see him cared for until his return. "For the first time I see things clearer now," he spoke softly. He rolled the tankard in his hands and focused upon the flames. "I have to find her."

He sighed deeply. "It has been many hours since her capture. Even if she is alive, how are you going to rescue her? And the men? What will you tell them?"

Graeme drained the cup and shook his head in despair. "I do not know."

"Then take my advice and do what your father would have done – return to the castle, regroup the horde and forget about the woman."

Their eyes clashed. Graeme clenched his jaw tightly. "This is not some woman. She is my mate. The mother of my child. Dead or alive, I will find her."

Rhys exhaled a sigh of defeat and leaned back into the thick furs before sipping from his own cup. "Aye, and I suppose you're going to march up to the Coven and demand to see her like a whipped pup?"

Graeme snorted in mockery. "I have thought on it."

Rhys flexed his shoulder and closed his eyes for a few moments. "Then you need a diversion."

Graeme glanced toward him and studied his profile in the light of the fire, cast into shadows and sharp angles. "I'm listening."

Rhys met his eyes and frowned. "I do not like this idea."

"Tis your idea."

"Nevertheless, one of us might end up getting killed."

"Tell me."

He grunted and took another swallow of ale. "Villages are littered throughout these valleys. We know that the Cronus Coven is three days ride from here. Go to the Coven and have the men attack one of the villages close to the boarder. The Hunters would send their best men for fear that you would breach their lines."

"But I will not be with them," he continued, nodding.

"She will be guarded but not heavily so. You and I can get her out of the manse. By the time the Hunters return, you would have rescued her, returned for the child and have disappeared."

Graeme clasped his hands together and exhaled a puff of hot air within his palms. "Tis a simple plan."

"The simple ones work the best."

"And if news of the attack forces them to have her moved? Or worse, if she is dead?" The words broke as they were forced from his throat.

Rhys closed his eyes once more. "Then you need to be honest with the horde, because there will be a bloody battle anyway. If she is dead..."

Graeme sighed heavily and leaned back, his eyes red and grainy from lack of sleep. "There might be another way..."

Rhys considered him by the firelight and frowned as the words that were spoken made his blood turn to ice. "Tis madness!"

"Be that as it may, it's the only thing that will work. We need someone on the inside."

"But her family has done this to her! Why would you trust them?"

"Tis not a matter of trust," he muttered, finishing the drink.

"I hope you know what you're doing Graeme."

He considered the general and offered a tight smile. "You have yet to tell me about the birth of my son," he invited lightly.

"Some stories are better told by women," he responded quickly.

Graeme eyed him curiously and allowed the escape without further prodding as conversation slipped into exactly how he proposed to put his plan into action.

Chapter Fifteen

A baby's cry echoed like a thousand voices in the oblivion. There was much pain as mothers and children ran screaming for their lives – lives that were not spared as blood stained swords descended upon their helpless bodies mercilessly. She tried to help them, tried to demand that the Hunters stop the massacre, but none would hear her, for her throat was being gripped menacingly by a Were. Graeme! It was Graeme...and yet it was not, for his eyes flamed red and the look on his face spelt retribution.

I can explain she wanted to cry. I tried to protect our son!

"Murderer!" he snarled, moments before his clawed hand connected with her throat.

Amarinda gasped for breath and darted up instantly, only to feel the full impact of the concussion she had suffered. Slowly, her fingers journeyed to her forehead where a large lump was tender to the touch. She glanced around, recognizing the thick drapes and lush eastern carpets that she had chosen for her room here at the Coven. Hot tears stung her eyes. They had succeeded. The Hunters had brought her home.

Home.

She sniffled and allowed her hands to journey to her stomach. For a confused moment she stared stupidly there, face pale and confused. Then all at once the memories came rushing back, of Graeme's quick kiss before he entrusted her to his friend, of the cold and the fear and the wail of a newborn babe. Her newborn babe.

Of the heartless reflection of nothingness she saw in the Hunters eyes when they brutally tore her son from her arms and...

Her scream was released in a surge of anger and agony, one that echoed throughout the Coven, so blood curling that the very walls shuddered at the emotion there. Footfalls thundered, and in moments the door to her chamber was slammed open to reveal the familiar concerned face of her brother. Already his sword was drawn as if he had expected an attack. They eyes met, and she noted nothing but the intense pain reflected in his orbs when he spied her disheveled form.

"Murderers!" she screamed, rising to stand upon the center of the white satin sheets she had once taken such pleasure in. "Cowards! You killed my baby!"

He was upon her in a flash, attempting to cradle her shaking form in his arms. She pushed him away violently, her blood hot and close to her skin. "Father tried to protect you," he whispered thickly. "The Elder sent Hunters from anther Coven. He did not trust us to..."

She whimpered and sank her fingers into the sheets, ripping them apart as she did so. And still, she screamed. Her cries were heard echoed throughout the manse and across the hillside where even the darkness felt her agony. She screamed until weakness overwhelmed her, until she could do nothing but weep. Crumpled upon the pillows, Vilirus attempted to approach her again. A gentle brush was felt across her heated cheek as he tucked strands of hair from behind her ear.

"We did not want you to be returned to us little one," he barely said. "There will be nothing but pain for you here." The sheets were soaked with her tears. Her crying could not be stopped. "Mother will be distraught to see you like this."

She shook her head and found the strength to clutch onto his shirt. Her eyes were swollen and water-logged and filled with a lifetime of torture. When she spoke it was with a trembling voice. "I beg you brother, I beg you if you love me have mercy upon me and cut me down. I cannot bear to live without them...without my baby..."

Horror filled his face and he put her away from him swiftly, darting to his feet. "No..."

"Vilirus! Kill me! Kill me or I will see you all pay with your lives for doing this to me!"

He stumbled back and darted out of the room, shocked when she swiftly followed him to the threshold. Her nails sank themselves into the flesh of his shoulders, and with strength borne of desperation, spun him to face her. She saw her reflection in his orbs, saw her riotous hair and the wild way her eyes darted this way and that, and it occurred to her suddenly that if she did not put her emotions to rights, she might very well go insane. Stunned, her crying stopped, and she released him quite suddenly.

"Deliver a message to your precious Elder," she said finally, still trembling, still hurting. "Tell him I take full responsibility for my actions, and the consequences to bear I shall do so gladly." He clenched his jaw and stepped back slowly. She lifted her chin and met his eyes once more. "If I am not sentenced...I will ensure that he pays with his very life for destroying mine."

Vilirus held his breath but simply nodded before closing the door in her face and bolting it from the outside. He found his parents moments later in their room. Macer responded to the gentle tap on the door swiftly, his blue eyes glazed in worry. Behind him, his mother's red hair flamed in the firelight.

"She is awake," Macer began thickly.

Vilirus nodded. "Awake, weeping incessantly...I could not calm her."

"I should go," Amalea stepped forward. Vilirus stayed her instantly.

"No mother, you should not. She is...different somehow."

"Of course she is different!" the woman exclaimed. "She gave birth exposed to the elements and have lost her mate and child. She will never be our Amarinda again."

Macer turned away, his head hung low in defeat. "This is all my fault," he croaked. "If I had only listened to her..."

Vilirus hesitated when he faced his mother once more. "She has a message for grandfather." Both pair of eyes looked up, alert. "She requests full punishment for her crimes."

Amalea shook her head swiftly. "No!"

"She does not wish to live without them."

"We are her family!"

"We are the ones who killed her child!" his father erupted frustrated. His wife sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands, sucking in large amounts of air. "She loves us no more than she loves the Elder. We are just as guilty."

Her broken sobs was met with tender eyes. "What are we going to do?"

He cupped her face gently and pressed his lips to her forehead. He did not have a fitting response.

****

They came for her just before the midnight hour. Amarinda studied her reflection in the full length mirror and thought she no longer recognized the flawless image that greeted her there. Her eyes were ice – as cold as the Nordic sea. She showed no emotion, but hatred boiled, raged within her. During the past twelve hours she had done nothing but weep. Now, with only the faintest blush of pink in her eyes to betray her, she secured the last pin to secure the tightly wound braid at the top of her head. The gown she wore tonight was nothing but black lace, so elaborately decorated and strategically pattered that she opted to neglect the corset and the knickers. They all thought her a whore after all. She dressed like one.

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, and 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.

A headache drummed directly above his eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked in rapid succession. The rest of the men had been sent to the stronghold with instruction to ready the horde for battle. They would move in at night, and bring the battle to the Coven at the stroke of dawn the morning of Amarinda's return. Granted that he was strong enough, Rhys himself would lead the battle in Graeme's stead. The rank and role of leader would be his to bear – a reward Graeme had called it upon their discussion the night before. For saving the life of his son.

Rhys did not feel like a hero. And he didn't like deceiving the masses, no matter how much or how often Graeme justified his actions. The babe stretched and yawned and blinked slumber-filled eyes against the flicker of the light in the hearth. The harsh lines around Rhys' mouth softened. Wide blue eyes looked up at his hovering form, and a surge of protective energy warmed the ache in his chest. He thought of his future, of the mate he would one day claim for himself, and wondered if the babe he would plant in her belly would favor him the way Graeme's son favored his father. With light fingers he brushed the ebony hair and marveled at the thistledown texture there.

"He has the look of his mother," Graeme announced.

Rhys jerked his hand away and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Her hair and eyes – but your features."

He entered and closed the door behind him gently. "How do you fare?"

Rhys crossed the room and returned to the cot. It creaked in protest against the force of his weight. "Still sore, but stronger."

Graeme nodded and awkwardly lifted the child. For a few moments he was silent, then met Rhys' eyes and grinned like a lad. "I have named him Ulleam."

"A strong name." Rhys nodded his approval and stretched out upon the cot. "Amarinda might not approve."

His face darkened into a frown and he took the child to the only stool in the room. There he sat and adored the babe. "She will be reconciled."

Rhys grunted. He had no doubt of that. "Did you meet the vampire?"

Graeme nodded, not looking up. "He has agreed to bring her to me three days hence. Have you already dispatched the men?"

"They rode at dusk." Silence filled the space between them. It was Rhys who finally broke it. "What am I to tell the horde when the battle is over?"

Graeme's sigh was a heavy one. "It matters not what you tell them."

Rhys clenched his jaw and kept his eyes fixed on the rafters above. He had ample reason to justify the anger that did a slow burn in the center of his chest. War was something he lived, a part of him that he considered honorable simply because he protected the masses. Scouts and soldiers kept the safety of those entrusted to them. He considered the women and children who found refuge in the coastal villages because of the threat of war. He remembered the cries of the children in the village a mere three nights ago before the vampire female had given birth. Rhys questioned the wisdom of the Fates once more and clenched his jaw tightly, wishing he held something less than love in his heart toward Graeme, for that was the only reason he had almost given his life to save the child and his mate.

Once he had promised never to choose the vampire over the horde. Now he was here, deep in vampire territory, body half broken and bruised, agreeing to claim leadership of the horde so that Graeme could sneak away with his family.

Rhys would be the one left to answer the difficult questions. He would be the one to look upon the faces of the men and see their anger and shock and utter disgust when he confessed the truth. He had the strangest premonition that the betrayal they would feel in the coming months ahead would leave a heaviness in his chest, the burden of which he had no wish to carry.

But according to Graeme, it mattered not what they were told.

He ground his teeth together and shook his head without apology. "No," he stated, his voice like starch. "You tell them."

Graeme's sigh was deep and patient. "I am torn Rhys. If I disclose the truth about my mate, she will never be accepted. Nor will my son. They will want blood, and I will not allow them to have it. If they scatter, there will never be another horde of this magnitude in a hundred years to come. The men will not survive without numbers. This is my biggest fear."

Rhys' deep eyes flickered in consideration. He had not thought of such things. "Your son has proved that breeding is possible between the two species. A new race, so to speak."

Graeme looked doubtful, although awe graced his eyes. "More than a vampire, more than a Were..." he whispered. The half-smile was wiped clean off his face. "They might also view him as a threat – unable to accept him because of his vampire heritage."

Rhys nodded. "Aye. Tis possible."

"Which is another reason why they must never know the truth."

"Without a leader –"

Graeme shifted and offered his forefinger to the babe wrapped quietly in his arms. Pink lips found his flesh and latched powerfully, greedily. "I have appointed you-"

"I beg you remember our bargain – I leave as soon as my part in this is done. You have your son, and in a few days, your mate. I want no part of this deception."

Graeme did not speak for a long time. The wet nurse came in fifteen minutes later,her bulky weight rolled forward and she claimed the fussing infant in her spiced arms. Graeme watched with calm satisfaction as she took him away to ensure that he was warm, dry and properly fed.

Rhys was right of course. The masses were his responsibility. No matter how long or how many different ways he tried to procrastinate, the truth remained the same – he would have to tell the horde the truth and let them decide if their lives were worth hers.

The response he knew he would get forced his heart to almost seize within the confines of his chest. He felt like a bastard.

"I will tell them, but only after my family is safe and out of harm's way," he heard himself croak.

Rhys closed his eyes. "You have made the right choice."

Chapter Seventeen

"What?!" Macer's voice was nothing but a raspy croak in the stillness of the night. Beside him, his wife's indrawn breath waited upon his nephew to repeat his words. Silas stood expressionless before the blazing hearth and did not lose a breath when he recited exactly as before.

"Sutter comes for her."

Vilirus planted himself upon the single chair closest to the window and swallowed with difficulty. "I don't understand. He would risk capture, death, for her?"

His father's shrewd eyes flashed in awareness. "The Were..."

"It was the only logical thing to do given the situation," Silas continued, his pale eyes almost flat. "He has sent a message to you." It was Macer he seized with his almost lifeless eyes. "If you want her unharmed and reunited with her mate, then spare yourself death and stay out of his way."

Amalea twisted her fingers, her face wretched. "If the Elder finds out..."

"I say we let him take her. He is swift. In and out in a breath and the Hunters would be none the wiser unless we inform them." Vilirus pushed to his feet, his face flushed with the idea of her escape. He turned to his father, a pleading look in his eyes. "She will be whipped like an animal if we do not allow it."

Macer turned his back pointedly and considered the dense forest outside. For the Were to approach one of their own brothers to demand such a thing was unthinkable. Yet Sutter was loyal to no one but himself. He couldn't help but wonder exactly what was demanded and what was given to have this done. Surely not more heads. And Sutter had opened his mind to his twin to let them know he would be daring the impossible. In a way, Macer was happy the bastard was half-crazed, for no sane vampire would dare to come into the Coven in an attempt to take a female. It was utter madness!

"Macer..." He turned his head and caught sight of his mate. Amalea shook slightly, her fear hanging over her like a cloud of despair. "This is her only chance."

He knew it to be so. "We cannot assist in any way, or be implicated if he is caught," he offered, his voice laced with agony. "When she is gone, he will still be hunted as the Elder has commanded."

Silas' face was somewhat strained by the information that was sent, and moments later a rare pull of a smile touched his chilled lips. "No love lost, he says."

Amalea stood and approached her husband, her fingers like a vise as they sought his hand. "All will be well," she muttered, as if reassuring herself. Macer pulled her to his side and planted a heavy kiss at the top of her silken flaming hair. Inside he felt like dying. He had failed to save his daughter. He should have listened those long weeks ago when she had begged him to understand. But how could he? How could he have trusted her to the very wolves he was sworn to protect her from? The irony hit him in the chest like a mallet.

To think that he would now have to trust something far worse than a Were with the most precious cargo he called his own...

Breath hitched in his throat and he closed his eyes in anguish. In that moment he hated the Elder and all the traditions the Old Way held. Rules that were used to measure the way he thought and acted, predestined laws that forced him to adhere to only the will of his father.

One day, he swore with vengeance hot in his veins, he would look upon the cold corpse of the old man and bless the Fates. He prayed the day would come sooner than not.

****

The waiting would be the death of her.

Amarinda sat in the darkest, coldest corner of the cell and was conscious of only the hot tears that made their way silently down the course of her cheek. Rats the size of rambunctious kittens infested the dungeons, scuttling across the floor and the hem of her gown with large egos, for she did nothing to deter their advances. Since the Hunters had thrown her in the cell last night, she had not moved. No meals were delivered and no one visited. Not that she minded. She had shot her last nerve though when she embraced the rage that took the place in her stomach where her baby once grew. Killing the Hunter brought her great satisfaction. Still, it did not bring back her son.

Anguish visited her in waves of incoherence. One moment lucid, the next lost in the past. One moment the shift of guards told her it was daylight. The next time she became aware, night had fallen. Even the ones chosen to keep her secured behind the iron gates did not spare her a glance. She recalled what it felt like to be held inside the stronghold that first night of her capture. She was afraid then of the enemy, of the unknown, of the stories and the legends she heard from her brothers and the Elder. She never knew the monster she should have feared all along had once cuddled her upon his lap.

A key grating in the lock snapped her out of her musings, and she glanced up in the darkness. Two Hunters, bare from the waist up, opened the gate and considered her thoroughly before one of them spoke.

"It is time. The Council convenes."

Time. For the whipping. She pushed to her feet numbly and felt tiny pin pricks cover her flesh. Within her there was only the slightest hint of panic. She had been bound to a post once before. This time there was no sunlight to spare her pain, but the sure hand of the whip master. They did not touch her when she allowed them to sandwich her in as they walked through the halls. The narrow, winding staircase that led to the roof four stories above was lit with high lamps that were nestled in alcoves carved within the stone. Amarinda had been privy to using this exit only once as a child. It had seemed large and frightful then. Now it was nothing but the walk to the gallows, in a manner.

By the time they got to the top of the manse, every trace of panic and fear she fancied she felt was locked away behind a mask of indifference. Three of the Council Members stood as witnesses. The Elder himself stood to the side and gestured for the deed to be done. Her eyes scanned the condemnation that was carved on her audience's faces and was thankful her family chose not to be there to witness what was no doubt going to be the ultimate shame. Vilirus had said that to her once. To bear the mark of shame was the ultimate sacrifice for ones sins. She had a feeling no matter how many times they hit her, she would find no absolution in his resolute features.

Chains were presented, thick and heavy. One of the Hunters approached her and eyed the dress she wore. Something flickered in his eyes, and just as quickly it was gone, only to be replaced with sold reserve. The other Hunter secured her wrists around the stone column that stood before them, a staggering ten feet tall and two feet wide. Her face was pressed to the coldness there, and as her hands were being bound, she blinked back another wave of tears.

Their footsteps softly retreated.

She heard the soft kiss of leather upon the snow beneath their boots.

Instinctively, she tensed and closed her eyes, thinking of her son, thinking of the mate she would never again see, thinking of her own desolation if she were unfortunate enough to live through this. But the Elder promised beheading, hadn't he?

Arms pulled taut against the binds, she sank her teeth into her tongue and waited. The whistle of the first last preceded the cutting sting that ripped through the material of her dress. Her scream of agony echoed in the night, lifted with the wind and was carried across the moors until in settled upon the heights of the hills to the west. On its heels, another landed. She screamed again, her eyes closed shut. One after the other, they took turns. The length of the whip caught her shoulder and curved like a lovers hand upon the right side of her breast. The tender flesh pulsated as the skin was sliced evenly through.

Time fazed, and by the time she counted twenty strokes, she no longer found the strength to stand. Blood ran like a river down her very legs. Everything burned. Her eyes closed of their own accord. She anticipated the twenty-first stroke, left her body weak and unprepared for the force behind the whip – it never came. Through swollen eyes she found the strength to blink. Her back was a furnace.

Behind her there was a growl – not a Were, she thought with disappointment. She had heard her brother make the same noise when he was furious, but never so viciously, never to brutal. There was a scuffle, curses, the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, footsteps that ran and choked noises of panic and fear. Then all was silent.

She swallowed with difficulty and felt her knees weaken once more. The chains that bound her hand were broken apart with hardly any effort. When she fell, it was like a sack of grain. Powerful arms held her close. For a dazed moment she dared to look into the face of her savior.

It was Silas, her uncle. She blinked. There was something different about him. His hair was short, his eyes wild and full of rage, his face sunken and drawn...No...not Silas. His twin. The Soulless one. Sutter.

She opened her mouth to speak, and he considered her with agony and horror upon his face.

"Well, your mate will have the Elder's head for this, wouldn't he?" he mused softly. The deep resonance of his tenderly spoken words filled her with shocking warmth. He cradled her to his chest as if she was naught but a child. Her holler of pain did not deter him. "There is no help for it now Mandy."

He had called her than many long years ago when her head reached all the way to his waist. Just before he disappeared. Another stream of tears filled her eyes, but she held them at bay. She would not cry. She would not cry.

He took off at a run and then leapt clear off the manse. If he fell and broke both their skulls she did not care. The pain was overbearing. His movements did not sooth her in the least. She did not know where he ran or how long he carried her in his arms. She knew only that he was warm and his embrace safe, and he smelled of the moist earth and fresh blood, metallic and rich. And he may have been Lost and senile, but he helped her.

In her mind, that made him more than a relative.

It made him her savior.

Chapter Eighteen

Macer lifted his head and felt every pore on his body raise to an alarming degree. Across the room, his son tensed, also sensing the presence of danger that triggered not only alarm bells in his head, but sent Hunters from the halls and the courtyards pounding through the manse in a frenzy.

It was a summons – a call from the Elder in times of distress...or war.

As a unit they made it to the door, only to be blocked by Silas' somber features. He cast a quick glance around and backed them into the room before shutting the door. Understanding and emotion swelled in Macer's chest as he struggled to speak the words. "Are they gone? Did he get her out?"

Silas inclined his head but once. The rush of relief that escaped his tight throat made him lightheaded. Short of laughter, he turned to Vilirus and slapped him on the back, a growl of victory in his throat.

"Two Hunters were killed in the fray. The trio of Council members that were present are shaken, but otherwise unharmed."

For a second it took the men to register exactly what was said. Macer opened his mouth to speak. It was Vilirus whose voice carried dead weight. "Why were there Council members present?"

Slowly, pained, Silas presented his fisted hand and unwrapped the fingers which were clutched upon a piece of white ribbon. It was stained with fresh blood. Macer recalled the frivolity that had been braided in the coils of her hair two nights ago and the moisture from his tongue left him. He staggered. Vilirus' powerful shoulders braced him even as he took it tenderly and clutched it to his chest. The beat of his heart there twisted so that the agony almost seemed unbearable. Imploring eyes met Silas'.

"She was..." He swallowed the words, unable to voice them aloud, unable to think that she was so treated, and was alone while it happened, without her mother or those close to her weeping to show support.

He felt himself being taken to one of the chairs. A heavy glass was pushed into his palm. He considered the water within and shook his head. Water would not patronize him tonight.

"I will kill him," he finally offered when time lapsed and the drone in the air that should have demanded him to attend the Elder faded and became more than a distracting hum. It burned to breathe, to move, to think.

Silas turned away, his head lowered, eyes focused outside. "I cannot allow you to do that." His words were level and softly spoken.

Macer's large hand grabbed onto the front of his son's shirt and he pulled him forward, his gaze intense. "Find her. Help them."

Vilirus nodded and was out the door in a flash. When he stood, it was to calmly tuck the length of ribbon into his breast pocket. The fortifying breath he inhaled made him light-headed.

"You are right," he conceded tightly. He could not do what he wanted to this night. The Hunters were alert, and he already sharpened Silas' instincts by speaking his emotions aloud. He would wait, he decided bitterly. He would wait patiently until he could avenge the injustice of this beating.

The image of his daughter, cut and bloodied and screaming made him almost lose the strength in his knees. Anger rose within him to mask the agony in his chest, but he clamped his jaw and said nothing. His faced closed, emotions shuttered just in time, for his mate sailed into the room, her face pale, features pinched.

Oh by the gods, someone had told her! She flung herself into his harms and held on tight, her breaths ragged and raw. "Tell me the news I have just heard is not true Macer," she pleaded, her body sagging against his. "Tell me it is not true..."

Silas' footfalls were swift to leave the room. The door was closed with a purpose. Macer found the strength to embrace her. When he spoke, his voice carried a hard edge.

"Fear not my Amalea," he whispered, stroking her riot of curls. "I swear, the time will come with the Elders' reign will come to an end, and you shall know the sweetness of vengeance for his manipulation and his deeds this night." Sobs racked her body. He held onto her even more. "Hush my love." Her wet cheeks he took into his hands and tiled her face to meet his eyes. His mate, so beautiful, so passionate, was brought to her knees with pain. His pain. Amarinda's pain. All to save the Coven's pride. At the deadly glow that sparked in his eyes, she calmed. Her fingers were white where she held onto his shirt for dear life. "Do you trust me ma cheri?" She nodded. "Then believe me when I say, the Elder will pay dearly for this."

He sealed the promise with a chaste kiss and tender words of assurances. Only when she was settled did he make his way to the council chamber. Everyone was in an uproar. The Elder sat as stiff as a statue, his eyes flaming.

"Something must be done!" one of the counselors demanded viciously.

"He has grown stronger."

"Stronger or not, he has completely gone senile to come here. To kill two of his own brothers!"

"To snatch the female – while she was being punished!"

"Silence!" The Elder stood, his face as cold as death. "The Hunters shall pursue them for as long as it takes. I want Sutter's head. And you will bring Amarinda back here for due punishment. Henceforth they were both hunted, one dead and one alive." Macer refused to show emotion when his father met his eyes. "You seemed distressed at my decision."

He bowed curtly, his voice as convincing as he could manage it. "I live only to serve your desire my lord. I am a Hunter before I am anything else."

His reply pleased the Elder, for his deep breath was exhaled easily enough. When next he considered those gathered before him, he summoned Silas forward. "You my son, are charged with bringing Sutter to justice. You have seen how blatantly he has disrespected and dishonored this Coven. If he is left unchecked, I fear we will suffer for it."

Silas bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord."

"The Council members shall leave immediately. All necessary arrangements are being made. The countesses shall stay with them for safety. The Hunters shall gather to Silas. Macer, we leave for Latvia posthaste."

"But my lord –"

"It is decided. We will go to the coast with the Council and take the ship to Latvia. Narelle and Amalea must be protected at all costs."

"My lord," he nodded again, for there was truth in the words spoken. He took his leave and paused in the hall. The Elder did not want him involved in the hunt for his daughter. He was too close to the situation, too emotionally attached. Now, he would be completely helpless, unable to offer assistance to her should she need it. Still, the time would come when all the pain he suffered now wouldn't be for naught. He would wait, would use the upcoming time with the Elder to plan what must be done.

****

The wooden windows slammed open and violently reverberated against the stone walls. Graeme and Rhys were on their feet in a flash, eyes aflame, and swords in their grasps. Outlined in the dark a vampire crouched, breaths violently drawn. Graeme's clasp on the hilt of the weapon slackened instantly, for the sweet scent of his mate dispersed through the cold wind and stunned him with relief. He rushed forward in a flash, ready to receive her into his embrace. In the yellow light of the fire she appeared pale. The breaths she took were labored. There was a rattling on her chest.

"Do not touch her." Sutter's voice was laced with much more than a chilling command, but rage, so much so that Graeme paused in his hasty advance. Only when he approached the cot Rhys had vacated did he understand why. The breath he drew was loud and intense. The marks of a whip...all over her body...

Hands clenched to fists at his side as the vampire laid her as gently as possible on her stomach. She was neither aware nor awake, but a frown of pain remained etched upon her brow.

"When did this happen?" Graeme growled, unable to bring himself to move. Sutter slipped a dagger from his boot and did swift work cutting the dress off her back, from her neck to the base of her spine. At the crisscrossed lacerations that shone black and ruby, Graeme turned away, eyes wild, chest heaving in agony.

"Midnight," he replied finally, softly, coldly. "I heard her scream. There was no time to wait."

Rhys pulled on a pair of trousers swiftly and leaned over her body, his features grim. "She has lost much blood. If she does not feed, it will take her longer to heal."

"Time you do not have," Sutter sliced in, his face tight and expressionless. "The Hunters are following."

Graeme fought the heaviness in his feet and dressed, ever so often stealing glances at his female, wounded and in so much pain...It was Rhys who gripped his shoulder tightly.

"Plans must change now. The horde has not yet left the stronghold. Still, you cannot go there. This will not end well for you."

Graeme shook his head, eyes ablaze. "Aye." Once again, he turned to Sutter. The vampire took his time about peeling out the garments that were caught in the wounds. The tenderness he exhibited was a blatant contradiction to the harsh lines of murder on his face.

"I will lead the Hunters away," he offered heavily, matter-of-fact, then added, "for a price."

Graeme's breath shuddered. "What do you demand this time?"

When his task was done, he stood his full height and met both pairs of flaring eyes. "The female Amalea visited with you the night your mate and your general left the stronghold."

Graeme's eyes widened slightly. "How do you know that?"

"She delivered to you a ring. Give it to me."

Graeme eyed him, his frown deep. "Why do you want it?"

"It is the price you must pay for my further assistance."

He nodded and fished into the sack tied around his waist. The ring was meant for a woman, its' sizing too small for a man. The vampire's eyes burned brighter upon sight of it, and he presented his opened palm in anticipation. Graeme allowed it to drop from his fingers. Sutter clutched it tightly and turned away in a flash. "There is an old shepherds trail to the west of the village that leads to the River. I will lead them there and they will follow until the tributaries of Edinburgh."

The child whimpered in the corner closest to the fire. Awe and wonder settled upon Sutter's features, and he stepped forward slowly, carefully, as if unsure of what to expect. One foot from the basket, the vampire's face reflected a series of emotions that ranged from disbelief to confusion.

"So, you are the reason for this battle," he murmured, then, as if suddenly recalling there were witnesses about, stiffened his spine and turned away abruptly. His heavy footsteps lead to the window where he vanished in the snowy depths without a backward glance or another word.

"Can he be trusted?" Rhys inquired as Graeme went about the business of awkwardly finishing the nursing that Sutter had begun.

His hands trembled in pent up emotion at the welts there, deep and raw. "He upheld his end of the bargain once. There is no reason he will not do so again."

Rhys secured the sword to his back and nodded, casting one last look at the babe. "I will go to the horde until your return."

Graeme's brows pulled together in a tight scowl. "You will need to explain my absence."

Rhys nodded stiffly. "I will do what I must."

Graeme stood his full height, awkwardly offering his hand to his general and friend. "I have put you in a precarious situation yet again."

The general grinned crookedly and pulled him into a quick embrace, slapping his back with unsaid affection. "You have your mate and your son. For you, it is everything. But for me, the horde awaits."

Graeme nodded and could not bring himself to say goodbye when he turned his back and left the room.

Chapter Nineteen

A babe wailed.

Through the thick, dark haze of slumber, the piercing sounds of distress echoed in the recesses of her mind. Instinctively, she clutched onto the sound and forced her eyes to open. They were unresponsive, heavy. The cries of the child grew stronger, as if it suffered, and in a flash, memories flooded her and filled her with dread. No, this was not her baby.

Her child was dead.

A wail of agony seized her. Her parched lips were sealed shut by weakness. There was no effort to weep – tears fell through her burning eyes helplessly. The white hot pain that stroked her form each time she attempted to move could not compare to the furnace within her chest – or the void in her stomach.

Such agony must mean she was alive.

The tears fell even more. There would be no reprieve from the path she chose then. This was the torment she would have to bear for a millennia for going against the Coven. She wept silently until there were no more tears to cry, until her ragged breaths became once again even – until she heard the heavy, all too familiar footsteps of her mate.

Through swollen lids she forced her eyes open. He occupied a chair close to where she lay. Funny, she had not heard him sit. But then this was only a dream. And what a sweet one at that, for in his arms she spied a wee child, swaddled in a thick, woven blanket. Another hot tear trailed a path down her cheek, but she was too tired to stay awake. There was warmth suddenly, a rough hand gently stroking her cheek – and the scent of fresh blood. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. Instinct took control when she could not, and as she drank her fill, she momentarily met flaming concerned eyes.

Day turned to night and night to day. Nightmares plagued her, of children burnt in a fire, of the Hunters butchering Graeme, of Rhys dying.

"Remember what you have cost him when your Coven comes looking for you!"

She wept.

With the nightmares the fever came. Icy fingers slithered across her body, and the blood she was so frequently fed she could not keep down. Familiar faces floated before her eyes – a dark haired Hunter with blazing blue eyes and a fierce countenance. Vilirus! Yes, it was her brother who mopped the beads of perspiration from her forehead. Her fingers found his wrist and she gripped there tightly. The pulse that throbbed beneath her thumb was strong and swift.

"Rest now," he spoke tenderly. "All will be well. I promise."

How many times had he spoken to her the same words a child when the dark shadows of the Coven terrified her? There is nothing to fear. The darkness and the vampire are one. It is a part of you.

A baby cried, and the relief that settled upon her like a blanket was ripped away and replaced by agony and rage. Vilirus dislodged her fingers from the death grip she implied upon his arm and pressed his lips to her head before moving away from her side. Panicked, she cried voicelessly for him to return before darkness once more claimed her.

****

Graeme drained the mug of ale and eyed the Hunter who sat in a far corner of the inn. Vilirus he called himself. Three days ago he had come from visiting his son in the nanny's room to find the vampire whispering hushed words of comfort and reassurance to his semi-conscious female. His first attack was met with the sharpened tip of a sword, so swift was his reflex.

"I am here to help you," he said in a breath.

"Who are you?"

"Her brother."

Graeme snorted, body held tense, eyes heated, determined. "I don't need your help. Now move away from her!"

"She is hurt. She needs to feed."

"Do not think to tell me what she needs Hunter. It is because of your kind she is wounded."

Genuine sorrow made the harsh lines of his face soften. "I know." Just as swiftly he sheathed the sword and considered his sister on the bed. "The Elder sanctioned the beating privately. We only discovered what happened after she was rescued."

"And you call us beasts," Graeme growled. When he advanced, Vilirus did not move. Indeed, his eyes had stayed upon Amarinda.

"There has been a new edict – your head on a pike and her return."

"Are you here to try and kill me then?" he asked in bitter humor.

"I am here to help in whatever way I can."

Now, he sat before the dying flames of the fire. The Hunters he informed, scoured the land, looking for any sign of Amarinda. When none could be found, they sent an emissary to the stronghold and demanded an audience with him. Graeme stole a glance at the female who stirred beneath the thick blankets. Soon, they would have to get moving. It would not be long before the horde scattered to the four winds. When that happened, his son and his mate needed to be far away and as safe as possible.

Graeme made his way across the small room and brushed strands of hair from her face seconds before she opened her eyes. Emotion forced his throat to close momentarily as awareness dawned upon her in degrees. The hot tears that stung her eyes he kissed away silently.

"You – you came back for me," she croaked. Her voice was thick and raspy from lack of use.

"Did you doubt it?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper.

Sadness swamped her then, such that her eyes lowered and the sudden flush of warmth that possessed her frame at discovering him present was shadowed by the fresh tears that haunted her eyes. "The baby..." Harsh fingers sank themselves into the hair at the back of her head. Graeme kissed her roughly, his tongue seeking as he re-discovered the recesses of her mouth. She attempted to pull away. He held her firm. "Please..."

"The child lives."

Stunned, her large eyes met his, hope shadowed by uncertainty. "Do not jest," she managed, each breath pronounced. "Do not be so cruel and jest..."

Graeme linked her fingers with his and kissed her ashen knuckles firmly. Slowly, carefully, he recounted to her the details of the days passed until all she could have done was whimper and weep and speak in her Mother Language. His hands found themselves stroking her hair and arms of their own accord. When her weeping had run its course, he listened to the light, hesitant steps of her brother approach. She must have heard it as well, for her head lifted sharply and a hard edge chilled the warmth in her orbs.

"What is he doing here?" she demanded stiffly.

"He is here to help," Graeme granted.

Her fingers sank into the coarse wool on the bed and she forced herself to move. "Get out!" Vilirus' lips tightened in a thin line. Still, he said nothing. The pain in his chest reflected only in his eyes. Graeme pushed her back gently upon the bed, a dark frown drawn between his brows.

"Maintain your temper," he clucked tenderly, unconcerned by the tremble of her lips. "This is no way to greet your son."

That soothed her, for some of the tension left her body, and when she finally laid her head to rest upon the pillow, she turned her face pointedly to the firelight. Graeme stroked the hollow of her cheek and planted a gruff kiss upon her head before turning to the Hunter who had yet to take his eyes off her.

"It seems that your presence is not wanted by either one of us," he drawled thickly.

Vilirus seemed to stand straighter still. "Be that as it may, I gave my word to our father that I would ensure her safety. Until such a time when I am of no use, you and I are stuck together."

Graeme snickered and wrapped fingers of steel around his upper arm. "Count it lucky that you still live to be so obtuse, vampire. She may be your sister, but she is my mate. All she has to do is say the word and I will have your head sent to your precious Elder along with her regards. Do not be foolish and upset her."

The Hunter shrugged out of the hold and straightened the strap of the daggers upon his back before meeting his gaze, eyes cold and unmoving. Graeme turned his back and left the room, summoning the wet-nurse as he did so. From down the hall she ventured with the wee babe snuggled warmly to her breast, suckling greedily. After another moment, he was disengaged. Graeme cradled him and returned to the room. Vilirus was nowhere to be seen.

"I do not want him here," Amarinda stated with frosty finality.

"Neither do I. But enough of him. Here is our son."

She faced him instantly, the shadows that haunted her face gone in a flash. Hot tears stung her eyes and her form trembled fiercely when he deposited the bundle in her arms. Graeme pulled a stool closer to the bed and considered her face and the fleeting emotions that flickered there. Wonder, happiness, anger, relief, confusion – a complexity he did not try to understand or explain. Her fingers stroked the hair upon his head, and she pressed her nose to the tender flesh of his neck and inhaled the essence of him deeply, familiarizing herself with his unique scent. Each finger and toe was counted several times, each part of his body inspected as if to reassure herself he was not bruised or wounded in any fashion. And when she was fully satisfied, she met Graeme's eyes boldly.

"Has he a name?"

He nodded but once. "Ulleam."

She scrunched her nose in displeasure and scrutinized him again. A thoughtful expression crossed her face. "Rhys saved his life," she muttered. A long tear stained her cheek.

"Aye." Graeme's voice cracked, moved with emotion at the memory of exactly how he had discovered the duo.

A small smile claimed her lips. "Then Ulleam it is, for he is strong."

Graeme considered his mate and son, both inspecting the other in awe and pleasure. His sharp eyes caught a glimpse at the healing wound upon her shoulder, one of the many that was ruthlessly crisscrossed upon her back. He clenched his jaw and not for the first time, managed to barely control the white rage that seized him. The marks upon her body healed slowly, for each wound ran deep.

He felt the warmth of her hand tentatively stroke his and captured her fingers within his own quickly, overwrought with emotion to do naught else than press his forehead to her flesh.

"What are we to do now?" she asked softly. He met her eyes. Exhaustion sapped her strength.

"I have planned it all. There is no need to concern yourself about the minor details. Come, you need rest." He attempted to lift the child from her arms but she shook her head, her grip tightening.

"I will have my son with me a little longer," she announced, her eyes focused on the infant. Graeme nodded. The desire to press his lips to hers, to reassure himself that she was indeed in his care once more humbled him.

"We need to travel as soon as the weather holds. Feed."

She struggled to sit. Graeme reached for the blade strapped to his boot and hesitated before sinking himself upon the side of the bed. It was there he offered her his neck. She gasped, stunned by his show of intimacy no doubt, but he did not care. She was his mate, and he needed to feel her lips upon him. There was a quiver in his hand when he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He considered her lips and her lashes that were clumped together from the tears she had cried. Even with the weight she lost and the dark shadows beneath her eyes, she was beautiful. On instinct he kissed her, a tender exploration that charged emotions he felt cowardly to verbally express. Her seeking tongue ventured into his mouth and he held his breath as liquid fire exploded within. His need became a demand, and soon enough, her labored breaths and the pounding of his own heart warned that he needed to pause. She was hardly strong enough for this. Marshaling his self-control, he moved back swiftly. The whimper of disappointment she offered almost made him change his mind.

"There will be time enough for that later, when you are well." He managed to sound almost convincing. A hot blush stained her cheeks, but not before the nurse charged into the room, her wide hips rolling.

"Tis time for Ulleam's nap," she announced. He retrieved the child and handed him over to the woman who cooed to the infant on her way out. As soon as the door was closed, Graeme attempted to kiss her again. This time, with this touch, he could not contain the moisture in his eyes.

Amarinda gasped and pulled away, stunned at the salty mixture of tears that invaded their meshed lips. He attempted to turn away, but her firm staying hands held his face in place. Worry pleated her brow. He was shedding tears. Her heart pounded, in concern, in love, in confusion. This was the first time she had ever seen him thus.

"I have died a thousand deaths, thinking I had lost you," came a thick confession. "Ach woman...I have been such a fool."

Love and warmth blossomed in her chest, drowning out the discomfort upon her back and the growl in her stomach. Words were not needed, not when she cupped his face within her palms and kissed him fiercely, greedily. Amidst their love-play, she fed. Slowly, he nudged her upon her stomach to view the damage done to the flesh of her back. His touch was tender and hesitant, stroking the sides of her ribs and the dimples at the bottom of her spine in wonder and regret.

"We travel to England. Once you and the child are safe, I will return and make the Elder pay for doing this."

She shuddered at the cold fury that laced his voice, so contradictory to the warmth of his touch. "He is no longer here."

She groaned the exact moment his hand left her body. "What do you mean?"

Fighting through the haze of exhaustion, she struggled to turn to her side and winced considerably. There in the glow of the firelight, his features were cast in shadows and planes. The intense expression on his face lent the flare in his honeyed gaze an almost sinister light. "I know my grandfather. He would not stay for fear that there will be a battle."

"So he flees? Like a coward?"

She allowed her eyes to fall. "The females will be taken to safety, as well as the Elder and those charged with his protection." Only when she dared to look into his stony countenance did she see the anger that flared within his eyes. "It matters not. I am here now."

"It matters not?" he repeated distastefully, moving away to reach for the sword. "They dared to hunt you like an animal, attempted to murder my son, and whipped you – a female – as if you are nothing but a criminal simply because I am your mate!" He spat the words furiously. "I want their heads on pikes! All of them!"

Amarinda considered the heavy breaths he took in a vain effort to contain his emotions and fiddled with the frayed end of the coarse blanket before nibbling her swollen lips. "Another Coven was sent to retrieve me," she whispered. Hot tears stung her eyes, reliving each moment even as the memories came. "I was not whipped because of us. It was punishment for severing the head of the Hunter who..." Her voice broke. Her clouded gaze met his stunned eyes.

"Whose head did you sever?" he pressed, stunned.

She dashed the tears away and laughed hauntingly, suddenly too tired to continue. "I took revenge the only way I knew how. They were honoring him for killing our son..."

His large arms embraced her and she hollered in agony. He put her away from his quickly, face sorrowful. "I cannot touch you, cannot make love to you...I swear on my life this shall not go un-avenged. When I return -"

"But you know the Elder will not stay here." She clutched the blanket to her chest, confused. "What do you mean return?"

"What they have done to you in unforgivable," he explained patiently, stroking the length of her cheek. "And I need to explain to the horde that I have found my mate among the enemy."

She hesitated and shook her head after a moment's pause. "You – you cannot. They will kill you." He shrugged as if it were not a serious consequence and earned her scowl. "You have bargained with a vampire to have me brought here. Now that we are safe, can we not simply disappear?"

"And forsake my responsibility to my people?"

Stunned, she blinked back her tears furiously. "Forsake them? You forsook them the moment you claimed me!"

"Aye," he shot passionately. "That I did leech. Because you are my mate. And I would do it again if given the chance. That I have betrayed their trust to protect you, that they will be hunted to extinction now simply because of us does not make it right. At least they should know the truth."

"And if you are killed?"

"I won't be."

She turned away and buried her face in the pillow. The agony in her chest outweighed the sting in her back. "If that is your decision, then I come with you."

"Don't be absurd. You will not make it to the gates."

"If they kill you then I am as good as dead!" she hissed, eyes clenched tightly. "Why did you save me only to leave me? And your son? Does he mean nothing to you?"

"Have a care how you speak to me leech," he warned darkly, a quiver in his voice. "And I said naught of leaving you. I have a duty to them. Do you not ken?"

"You have a duty to me."

"Ach lass," he murmured, sinking into the mattress to nuzzle her ear. "That I do. But I will not allow myself to be killed when I have you waiting upon me, naked as you are in my bed." The palm of his hand cupped her slightly protruding stomach and stroked there tenderly. "Trust me when I say, once you are safe I will return."

She pulled away from his caress. "I do not believe you."

Graeme clutched her chin and forced her face to meet his. Her eyes were swamped with unshed tears. "I love you. Do you not yet know that much?"

Her gasp was cut short by the thorough abuse of his lips. She clung to him, her knuckles white with the effort. "I love you too."

An arrogant brow lifted. "Good. Then trust me."

Eyes closed, she took a deep breath. "I trust you. But I do not trust the horde."

Fingers entwined, the held each other close that night, lost in thought and taking comfort in each other's arms.

Chapter Twenty

Graeme secured the weapon upon his back and turned to face the Hunter that entered the room. To his left, Amarinda slept peacefully. Her cheeks were blushed a healthy pink, the aftermath of an early breakfast when he stirred before the dawn. Beside her, the child slept, unaware of the danger they faced.

"You are leaving without waking her." Vilirus's accusatory tone did nothing to sooth Graeme's already agitated state.

"Do not think to question the decisions I make for my family boy," he growled menacingly. "I leave quietly because she won't make this easy. All you have to do is get her to Edinburgh and keep her safe until I arrive. That shouldn't be too hard."

"She deserves to know."

"Knowing and doing are two different things."

He felt the older man's eyes on him even as he leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead and to consider his son tenderly. When he made his way to the door it was to motion Vilirus to follow him.

"Take the mountain path. It is less likely you will come upon any travelers that way."

"How long before you send word?"

"As soon as it is safe."

Graeme ran his hand over his face and grunted. Vilirus did not wait for him to state his approval, but continued speaking instead. "When we arrive, I will send you word."

His fingers snatched the material of his sleeve and he jerked him near, nose almost touching. "If anything happens to them, make no mistake, I will kill you."

Vilirus jerked his arm away but did not back down. "If anything happens to them it means I am already dead. It is time. The sun is about to rise."

Graeme cast another look at the slumbering form of his mate before pulling the door closed. The warmth of the rising sun seeped into his pores, and he inhaled the fresh sent of spring, crisp and light and full of promise. He mounted wordlessly, and it was with urgent resolve did he run the horses throughout the day, not stopping to rest or eat. By the time the stronghold came into sight, he exhaled heavily.

****

The castle was dark and menacing, with no moon to light his path. No torch burned, not a sound could be heard, and for a moment Graeme thought he was too late, that the horde had already scattered, until he spotted swift movement on the battlement above.

"Open the gate keeper. It is Graeme who seeks entrance!"

His bellow must have echoed throughout the yard, for many heads appeared, staring him down from upon the walls, arrows at the ready even as they identified him. The keeper paused before opening the heavy gate, then made the leap to the ground to block the path of his leader. He was an elderly Were, for faint wrinkles graced his features. Graeme's expression became stoic as the man audaciously lifted a torch to his face to look at him closely.

"Are ye satisfied it is I?" he grunted.

"Aye."

"Can I come into my own home then?"

A semi toothless grin greeted him. "Oh aye. Ye can come in. I daresay the horde will be real cherry to see you now that ye've decided to come back."

"Leave off old man. I told you he had something important to see to," Rhys snapped and pushed forward from the shadows.

"Aye."

They got to the center of the yard before Graeme's voice reached his ear. "Wait."

Stones crunched beneath the weight of his step as he advanced, cautious, eyes sharp, hackles raised. It was not the stench of vampires that assailed him, but the sense of pure rage. Rhys started to reach for his sword, but his hand stopped him gently. His men had a right to feel angry. He could not fault them.

"Light the torches," came his command. Nothing moved in the shadows. Only the gatekeeper moved to obey. "By the gods, I said light the damn torches!"

Slowly, each torch was lit, and with its brilliant light, he was able to get a look at the men. Many did not approach him, but chose to simply wait for the explanation he knew he had to give. A frown pleated his forehead as he scanned the yard.

"Where are the others?"

"Gone," an anonymous voice offered simply.

"Gone? What happened here?"

"Men returned with stories of a village burned to the north. Of women and children slaughtered. Many lost families."

"Aye. There is truth to the tale."

"Is it also true then that a babe was found with the general, broken and left for dead by the vampires?" another voice echoed harshly in the silence.

Graeme stiffened his spine. "Aye."

Several Weres stepped forward, their eyes burning in rage. "What about the rumors that you have taken a vampire mate? That you have kept her here, beneath our very noses for an entire season? That there is a child born of such a union?"

Rhys' blades sang and resonated when he swiftly slipped them from their cases, both hands occupied. One came to rest unapologetically against the jugular of the man who had spoken last.

"You would dare interrogate our leader as if he were a lowly dog like yourself boy?"

Graeme stepped forward boldly, his eyes scanning the thick crowd as more of his men appeared from inside.

"There is much to tell you," he began gruffly, unaccustomed to the show of emotion in-front of so many. "But I do not have the time nor the words to make what I have done go away or change. Everything that you heard, much of it is accurate. A vampire female was brought to me several moons ago –"

"She did not die in the sunlight!" another voice offered from the edge of the crowd.

"No she did not."

"They have evolved!"

"I told you. Since the beginning I suspected something was wrong."

"We are all going to die!"

"He is responsible for the attacks!"

"Silence!" Rhys roar had the desired effect, his eyes wicked flames of orange and gold. "All of you will shut up and listen to what is said, or so help me I will sever the head of anyone who disobeys!"

Graeme grunted his approval at their clamped lips and continued. "I have discovered many secrets. One of which none of us knew until now. It is possible for them to find mates with humans." A thick mumble went through the crowd. "That is why she cannot be killed by the sunlight. A gift inherited by her mother, it would seem."

"Vampires do not mate with their food," someone was brave enough to snicker.

"And Weres do not mate with the enemy, yet here I am. Mated." Another wave of whispers. "I did not choose her. Fate did."

"It is unheard of," someone offered uncertainly. "Besides, they stink."

Gruff chuckles echoed in the silent night. Graeme nodded. "I assure you it is like any other mating. To anyone else yes, but not to me."

"We have been at war for years to numerous to count. With you mated to one of their females, what do we do now?"

Graeme rubbed the sore spot of his chest at the thought of his family and nodded. "We are still at war – one that will test our strength, one that I do not want to shatter us as a people. But I ask you to fight with me as you have done in the past."

"Why should I give my life for a leader who has done nothing but lie to me from the start?"

Rhys pressed the blade a little deeper into the man's throat, for he spoke with more than anger, but also heavy disrespect.

"I did nothing any one of you would not have done if you were in my position. Those of you who are mated know full well the mating heat and the bond. You will kill anyone who tries to take her away from you. And those of you who are not yet mated and have seen many years on this earth hopes each day that the Fates deliver her into your arms so you can finally have something more than war to live for. I will not apologize for finding my mate, vampire or not. If you cannot accept her or understand, I cannot force you to stay or even fight. But hear me well – it makes no difference to the vampires who rally themselves for war whether you agree with me or not. They come. And when they get here they will be out for blood. Your children, your sires, your women will bleed beneath their blades. Only you can determine whether or not they live or die, whether or not you fight."

It was a long time coming before several men stepped forward. One of them met Graeme's eyes squarely and nodded, finding whatever he sought there. "You saved my life once on the battlefield," he confessed. "I doubt you even recall, and I too am mated just last fall. A babe grows in her belly. I will fight for her, and also to repay my debt to you."

Graeme clasped his hand and squeezed hard. One by one they came forward until many who had been lingering inside also faced him. When Graeme looked up, he realized there was no one who would turn away except the insolent pup who could not move under his general's blade.

"And you? Do you have no one to fight for?" he asked softly.

"I will not fight for a vampire!"

"That vampire is your queen whelp," Rhys snarled, kicking him squarely. His bottom hit the ground in a harsh reminder of his place. "And you have just proven that she had more fight in her than you do."

"Rhys," Graeme warned. He was ignored fully when his general faced the men, eyes iridescent.

"I was there at the birthing of the babe," he choked out, voice made thick with emotion. "I was there when she fought, when she was taken, when they tossed the wee pup over the bridge as if it did not deserve a chance at life. I was there when we marched into vampire territory to get her back, and what we bargained and found..."

"Rhys-"

"They whipped her like an animal for choosing us." Gasps and shocked curses filled the air. "And I say us because that is what she did when she killed one of her own, when she chose to stay with Graeme even when she knew it would cost her life. Well I chose her. And if any of you miscreants have the pleasure of meeting her, you will no doubt say the same."

The boy got to his feet slowly and dusted his leggings before snorting. "I will fight," he grumbled. "But for the man next to me."

Graeme nodded, his chest full of satisfaction. "We are few, and will not be able to defeat them with so little. Send scouts to the other hordes – those to the west, those to the east. Tell them my story. Let their respective kings and chiefs decide what must be done. Let them know if they will not fight, they will be hunted by our enemy."

The men nodded and scattered to do what needed to be done. Graeme gripped Rhys' shoulder and squeezed before clapping him on the shoulder. "That went better than I thought. She will be quite upset that you have made her shame public."

He shook his head, now under control. "They needed to know that she bled for them – for you. Tis no shame in marks of war."

Graeme smiled. "Come. There is much to plan and little time to do so."

Chapter Twenty-One

Two Weeks Later

The vampires came like shadows in the night, wraiths that crossed the valley like soulless ghosts. No sound was made as they swiftly climbed the castle walls and flooded the courtyard. Dogs barked and snarled at the intruders. Like ants they invaded the castle, armed, deadly. Only when less than a hundred were left in the valley did Graeme give the signal for the archers to release their arrows. Arrows directed toward the stronghold that many called home. Like meteors falling from the sky they lit the heavens and crashed into the barrels of oil they strategically placed along the castle walls. The first explosion was heard, followed by the definite shouts of panic and horror from within. Again the second attack of arrows was launched from the dense cover of trees to the front. Hundreds of arrows, merciless, deadly. Screams of agony echoed in the night, but Graeme said nothing as he watched his home burn to the ground. Rhys gave the signal for yet another release of arrows, flood after flood until those who were not killed in the attack and managed to escape the flames retreated onto the field in shock at the numbers lost in so little time.

"Those who have escaped the flames, let them live."

Rhys frowned at his words, eyes glowing in the night. "We can run them through. The survivors are only a few."

"Then we cannot start the rumors of the mercy of the Weres now, can we?"

"They would not show us mercy."

"That is so. And let them know it. Let them go back and tell the Covens I have no desire to continue this fight as it is clear who the victor is, that I take no pleasure in bloodshed, especially since I honor my mate with sparing their lives."

Rhys nodded and summoned a score of his men to follow his lead. Graeme watched as the fire destroyed the stronghold. The wind took the black smoke further north. Out of the several hordes he sent his emissaries to, only one chose to fight beside him, bringing with him three hundred strong. It was this chief who suggested he destroy the castle, for it was done in the days of old when strongholds were smaller and the need to eradicate a much larger foe proved fatal and sure. It was madness he argued. It would defeat the purpose of a defense. Then he looked at the faces around him, of the men who knew his tale and still chose to fight at his side, and knew they would never be safe here. Having a mate this close to vampire territory would be like adding salt to a wound that would never heal. He was advised to settle elsewhere, somewhere far, somewhere his people and his family would be safe.

"My land and my people welcome you to stay with us until you have found a place worthy to settle."

Graeme glanced at the Were beside him on horseback and nodded. Bjorn was a descendent of the northern tribes, large and blonde with a long beard that held many war braids, and markings that covered one side of his face. In taking a princess to the north as his mate, he understood the challenges Graeme faced, and sympathized with him.

"I thank you, but this is our home. We will rebuild, and we will be stronger because of it."

Bjorn nodded, his eyes bright with understanding. "Then I leave half of my men to assist with the task ahead. When I return I will send supplies to aid as well. But in return I request to one day meet this vampire mate of yours."

Graeme smiled and offered his arm. "Agreed."

Bjorn shook it firmly and signaled for only half his men to follow in his wake. As they rode off, he considered the respect he saw on the faces of the men standing around him. Not a single Were life was lost and none was wounded. He counted this a victory indeed.

"Go to the coast and spend time with your families. We begin rebuilding in a fortnight."

"And you?" someone asked.

He turned to the south and felt a small smile pull at his lips. "I am going to bring my mate home."

"You must not ride alone. Although you have spared many lives, not all vampires would accept your attempt at mercy."

He nodded. "Indeed. Rhys and his men will accompany me on the journey. In the meantime I charge you with protecting the boarders and keeping our people safe."

They nodded their understanding and disappeared in the thick forest. Only two stayed at his back for protection, a fact he did not chastise them for, even when Rhys returned hours later and the fire to the castle continued to do a slow burn.

"Do we douse the flames?" he inquired, unsnapping the clasp that held his furs secured.

"Nay. Let it cleanse the keep. It will die on its own." He turned his mount around and led them higher into the hills where a temporary shelter was built. The morning sun doused the mountains with warmth. "Appoint to me a few men. I am going to retrieve Amarinda."

Rhys scowled and shook his head before Graeme could continue. "Nay. You are needed here to supervise what must be done. I will retrieve her."

Graeme cut him an amused glance. "The last time I begged such a favor it was not well received."

"I could not accept her as your mate then."

"And now?"

"It goes without saying."

Graeme grinned boyishly. "Then you leave as soon as you are fed and rested. I know she will be well cared for."

*****

Graeme shifted in his seat, unsettled once more. Almost a sennight ago Rhys was charged with returning with his mate, and it was only last night word arrived. They stayed at an inn not two miles from the stronghold, resting. He wanted to go to her himself, to touch and hold her, to see his son. Instead he decided that no matter how urgent the need to be close to her, she would come to his home and be given a welcome suited to any mate of the king. From the moment he announced to his men that she was close, word spread like wildfire. The women and children busied themselves with decorating the halls and preparing a feast unlike anything he had ever seen. His men hastened to rebuild the last of the walls that needed securing. His halls were a riot – there was singing and dancing and much to drink. Bjorn's men who had stayed to ensure the stronghold was completed were invited to join in the celebration, an opportunity neither of them declined. Several warriors and chambermaids were sent ahead, with chests of gifts and jewels and perfumes to prepare her for her entrance. Now, as the evening faded to dusk, there was still no sign of the entourage. He stood and paced, and finally snatched his sword from where it sat against his chair and, in his festive colors, slammed open the doors to bellow for his horse.

And stopped in his tracks.

The road leading to the front doors of the stronghold was lit with dozens of torches even though the sun had yet to set. The people lined the streets of the village bearing gifts of flowers and fruits. On the outside, the ladies ordered to assist their new mistress offered excited smiles and whispers as they entered ahead of the carriage. The horses were stopped, and as the sun dipped beneath the mountains, Rhys stepped forward to open the door. Vilirus was the first to dismount, and to his credit, when the women and children gasped and the murmurs began, he did nothing but offer them a disconcerted glance and offer his hand into the darkness within.

Her fur boots were the first thing Graeme saw. The shimmering blue of her dress was next, and when she smiled her thanks to the Hunter before her and looked around, he knew she sought his face. He could not move, for even at this distance, he could see how radiantly she shone. She was beautiful, his mate. So beautiful he cursed himself a hundred times for his folly in treating her like a slave those many moons ago. She spoke to Vilirus, said something that earned her a scowl and a gentle rebuke, and turned to Rhys for help. He did not fail when he cut a murderous glance at her brother and offered his arm. To see her touch his general so, to smile at him, to see the man respond so readily ignited his jealousy so that it was a great effort not to rush in and tear them apart. She spoke again, and he nodded forward. When she looked up, their eyes met. She froze. Hot tears fell down her face, and the force of the love he saw in her eyes knocked him in the center of his chest. There was no stopping her feet as she disengaged herself and ran to him, her beautifully bound hair losing their many pins as the chambermaids called out to her. The force of her body as it was pressed to his humbled him. Her embrace was tight, reassuring, and when she finally met his gaze, it was to tip toe and press her lips to his in a shameless kiss that prompted the onlookers out of their shock and into a hair-raising cheer.

"Let me breathe woman, before you tempt me to ravish you right here," he scowled when she refused to release his lips.

"And I will not care. I have worried about you so much."

"And I have thought of nothing but you since I left."

Displeasure darkened her eyes and for a moment she pushed him away. "You did not even say goodbye."

Accusation was heavy in her voice. He stroked her face, her neck, and finally cupped her chin to kiss her again. "You would not have made leaving easy. But all is well now. You are at my side, where you belong."

It was then she turned to the crowd, cheering and prompting. "I still could not believe it when Rhys told me how well they have accepted me."

"They trust me. And after your enthusiastic greeting, they believe you love me."

She did not blush when she met his eyes squarely. "Was there even any doubt?"

He laughed and embraced her again before presenting her to the crowd. Silence ensured, and there, with many witnesses, he pledged allegiance to her as a mate. When it was her turn to exchange the vow, she glanced nervously to Rhys who simply nodded, and offered the same in the tongue of his people. Graeme caught his jaw before his dropped, and was all but deafened by the roar of approval they gave.

"I accept," he croaked, and kissed her again.

"Let us now celebrate this occasion, and that of an era with our new mistress."

Rhys ordered the minstrels to play, and with music and much celebration, the night began. Whispers of how beautiful and charming the mate of their king was swept throughout the stronghold and the land. Tales of that night echoed in song in the years that followed. Every family, vampire and Were, knew well the stories of the Leader to the south, of his daring, of his courage, of his oath to the woman he claimed, he loved. And as the years went by, more vampires and Weres accepted that love knew no bounds. The knowledge filled some with courage, and some with much despair, and others simply curiosity.

"Do you think I shall ever see my mother again?" Amarinda asked one day as they rode through the village, distributing grain after another successful harvest. Graeme tore his eyes away from his two year old son who totted behind Rhys, ever so often shoving a berry in his mouth.

"I cannot say. Do you miss them?"

"Sometimes. Then I remember, and I long to forget."

He kissed her hand and smiled, his eyes bright and full of warmth. "We have many years to see the times pass from this earth my love. I think one day, you will see the family you long for again."

"I do not long for them Were," she teased, pulling away. "I have the family I need right here. And since Ulleam is otherwise cared for by your doting men, I would like some time alone with my husband."

His grin was all teeth. "Is that right?"

"I challenge you to a hunt." By the look in her eyes there was no doubt as to what - or who he'd be hunting. Fire burned in his loins and he inhaled the sweet smell of her desire. When he looked her, his eyes flamed.

"Then you should start running vampire, because when I bring you down, I will have no mercy."

She grinned and turned the mount around, he leaned forward and eyed her until she disappeared into the trees.

"Rhys!"

His general swept the child in his arms and faced him, glanced toward the direction she took and snorted his disapproval. "My lord?"

"Watch Ulleam while we are gone."

"Gone?"

"Aye. I think when your mistress returns, there will be another babe in her belly."

Rhys kept the surprise from his face but could not help the chuckle that rose in his chest when Graeme dismounted and made his way ever so calmly to the forest. Indeed, the habits of mates he will never understand.

****
