Читать книгу Rapture - Jacquelyn Frank - Страница 12

Daenaira inspected herself in the floor-length mirror very carefully.

For the fifth time.

“Light, you’re a vain bitch,” she muttered to herself.

In actuality it was more about never having put on a new, tailored sari before. When you wore a rag, it didn’t really matter what it looked like. However, she had been given a brand new midnight blue sari, the uniform of a handmaiden. It was made of a beautiful and fine velvet that gleamed against every curve of her body before draping over her shoulder. The long-sleeved blouse she wore with it ended just beneath her breasts, hugging her snugly every inch of the way. The low scoop of the neckline wasn’t exactly shy about cleavage either, especially considering she had a pretty generous amount to work with.

The underskirt holding the pleats of the sari was gossamer soft, brushing against her legs like delicate air and making her wince whenever it caught against the rough calluses of her knees. She would have to see if she could find a cream to help ease and soften the rough places on her body. She was highly aware of their ugliness, and the other handmaidens she had peeked out at now and then were all so soft and beautiful and feminine. Their hair shone, where hers was dull and stripped from the harsh soap she had been forced to use. To hide it, she had tightly plaited the mess and curled it into a cobra knot on the top of her head. Those other women had no flaws or bruising that she could see, and even those who forwent slippers to go barefoot had the prettiest and smoothest feet Dae had ever seen. They also wore black kohl to outline their dark, lovely eyes. She hadn’t tried to use eyeliner since she’d gotten into her mother’s at age ten and had made quite a mess of herself.

On the vanity there was a pretty new pot of the stuff and an application brush as well, but she was afraid she wouldn’t do it right and would look foolish. Twice as foolish, she thought grimly as she touched the scarring and burns at her throat. She had a feeling they would always be there, for the rest of her days, always reminding her of exactly where she had come from. She had seen some of the women wearing jewelry, so she would probably be able to cover it up with something one day. But ornamentation cost money, and she didn’t think handmaidens got paid for their work. They were paid in the things they needed, and those needs were provided quite lavishly. Every single touch in her rooms and her small new wardrobe was finely done and generous, but not in the least vulgar. The only actual gold and precious elements she had seen so far had been artistically inlaid into the pommels and scabbards of the weapons collection of her priest.

Her priest.

And what a priest!

The great and venerable M’jan Magnus, spiritual leader of all Shadowdwellers and, most especially, the twin Chancellors who now ruled over them. The mighty and terrible Magnus of whom she’d heard frightening tales from her spot on the bar rail. Tales of unrepentant Sinners and a ’Dweller priest, deadly and devoted, hunting them down and gutting them. Warriors of all clans had feared the wrath of Magnus. Others had marveled over his skill when they had seen him in actual battle. She remembered hearing such amazingly varied accounts of him; it was as though he were a myth, not a true being.

Well, he was real enough. She had felt the reality of him on every level available to her at the time. He was more volatile in temperament than she would have imagined for one so wise and experienced. She also knew better than to poke a stick at a cranky bear, so she would try and tread carefully until she figured things out a little.

On the whole, she had to look at this whole thing as a decided improvement. Warm room, new clothes, no chains and no zapping. She still wasn’t certain it wasn’t just a prettier form of slavery, but she believed what he had said to her about Dreamscape, and she had been comforted by the way he had apologized to her and relented about his heavy-handed dictates. It wasn’t the topic she took issue with, she just didn’t want him thinking he could make unilateral decisions and she would step in line like some—well, a slave. Dae was well aware that she only had as much power in this place as that man allowed her to have. However, the trick would be in the way she made him want to manage her. This could quickly degrade into anger and fear and some vicious fights if either of them wasn’t careful with the other. She could sense quite easily he didn’t trust her any more than she trusted him. For the moment, though, they had both decided to trust each other enough to give this thing a test run.

Magnus cleared his throat and nearly made her jump out of her skin. She turned with a gasp to look at him. How in Light was he able to sneak up on her like that? Better yet, was he willing to teach it to her? All ’Dwellers had remarkable hearing, as well as a bevy of other keen senses. To fool them was an amazing trick, one she absolutely had to learn for herself.

“You look very nice,” he complimented her evenly. “The blouse seems to fit.”

“It’s a bit snug,” she corrected wryly, smoothing a self-conscious hand over her breasts, making certain the sari draped to hide the lush swell of her cleavage.

“It’s supposed to be snug. A woman’s body is one of the most beautiful things we have on this planet. Do you know what the sari represents in our culture?” When she silently shook her head, Magnus continued. “Traditionally, it was to do the two most important things every woman should receive. The underclothing is sheer and snug, flattering the shape and displaying lovely charms that deserve to be shown proudly. The sari is meant to protect those charms, while at the same time symbolizing that every woman should always be draped in comfort, protection, and a fine cloak of queenly grace.”

Magnus slipped around behind her and looked into the mirror with her. He met her eyes even as he reached around her to smooth the sari back into its natural fall, instead of hiding her. It brought the heat of his big body cradled up against her back, brushing her as he moved and somehow making her very aware of his fingertips traveling across her breast as he followed the drape of the sari to her shoulder. In a way, he was almost embracing her, with his arm crossing over her like that. Daenaira felt suddenly trapped by all of that strength and ominous power, her skin rippling with chills and heat in turn as she broke from him and turned around, bumping back into the cold wall mirror as she crossed her arms over her bare midriff under the sari.

Magnus looked at her, his golden eyes looking puzzled for a moment. Then understanding seemed to dawn as she heard him swear softly under his breath.

“I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t do that and I keep breaking that promise. I hope you can forgive me if I tell you…”

No. He couldn’t tell her about the familiarity of his visions of her. Visions were just possibilities; he knew that even though he had never had them before six weeks ago. It was as though Karri poisoning him had unlocked some kind of shuttered door within him, and now everything was rushing to show itself to him. She was rushing to show herself to him. But Chancellor Malaya was a true precognitive, and he had seen her struggle, from an up-close perspective, with comprehension of the things she saw in her mind over the years. They could be tricky, taunting things, visions. They were always truth, but it was often imagery of truth and other unreadable or unreliable representations.

Of course, his visions had been stark and clear.

Raw.

Magnus swallowed the sensation of nerve-rushing heat that the admission chained through his body. He reminded himself that, since sexual needs had been the issue that had boiled away the Bond between him and Karri, dissolving their sanctified trust, it was probably Drenna’s way of warning him to keep very aware with this new maiden. That being the case, he forced himself to focus on the fragile trust he was trying to create with her.

“No one will be allowed to touch you if you do not want them to, but you will see we are a warm and affectionate group here. The women are kind and friendly and will want to hug you in greeting. The men will want to welcome you with hand-clasping. I tell you this so you understand my forgetfulness, but also because I will need to know how you wish me to handle it for you. I can request that you not be touched.”

“No. Please. It will just make me stand out like…like some sideshow. I can tolerate it. Don’t…I don’t want anyone to know what bothers me.”

Advantage. She meant that she didn’t want anyone she met to have an edge over her. Magnus was sorry she had to react in such a way to the world around her, but at the same time, in light of his troubles, her suspicion and caution would help protect her.

“Tomorrow I will start to make your sai,” he informed her. “But I was wondering what your preference of holster was going to be.” Sai were an unusual choice for a woman, their bulk making them obvious and tediously heavy on occasion. They also could get in the way of a woman’s daily activities. Since handmaidens in Sanctuary only wore saris or k’jeet, both of which were dresses, thigh holsters were awkward and unattractive.

“Really? My choice?” She licked her lips, clearly anxious to respond even though she was surprised that he was going to arm her. But Magnus wanted her to be able to defend herself in any moment.

“Yes. Your sai, your holster, your choice.”

He could appreciate that she hadn’t had much in the way of choices in her life. He also appreciated the slyness of her smile.

“Calves. But…one for boots and one set for without. If…if that’s okay.”

It was clever and devious, he thought with amusement. With the long fall of her sari, as long as she was careful, no one would even know she was wearing them. They would be completely out of her way, also, and impossible to disarm from her. Not both at once. And Magnus didn’t doubt for a second that she was aware of every single one of those details.

“I will make both,” he agreed, watching her smile snake in wicked satisfaction. The sly thing. That little grin of hers was going to get her into trouble. “But only if you tell me where you learned to use them.”

It was like throwing a gate across her face. Total lockdown. She went rigid and her crisp eyes narrowed on him. She didn’t like ultimatums. She liked even less having to barter personal information for something he knew she wanted very badly. She hated him for using it against her.

“Keep it. I never asked for it in the first place,” she snapped. “I never asked for any of this. Not in my waking hours,” she shot out, cutting off that avenue of argument.

Dae was furious. She pushed past him and stripped the sari from over her shoulder. She destroyed painstakingly created pleats and unwound it completely from her underskirt, and once she had the yardage in hand she couldn’t seem to control the urge to throw it in his face.

“Priest or man, you’re still a bastard!” She shucked off the blouse and threw that at him, too. “Here! Why bother with little tactics like too-tight blouses? I’ll walk around like this and you can show me off just like all the other pretty little cows I see herding through the hallways!”

Magnus drew the velvet, still warm from her body, away from his face and saw her standing there, feet braced hard in righteous anger, fists clenched by her sides, and her body, naked from the waist up, on proud display. From the waist down the close-to-sheer underskirt pretty much completed the picture of her entire figure.

Holy Light.

She was something else. Bruised and battered, thin under her ribs, too slim at the waist, but…skin the color of a light touch of milk in coffee, so even and beautiful as it flowed over her very generous breasts. Her nipples were large and dark, a luscious maroon that accented the perfect teardrop shape of each breast. Below that was the span of a flat, taut belly that had seen a great deal of work tucked into its shape. Just above the low-riding skirt was the slightly darkened indentation of her navel.

The urge to tongue her in that spot rode onto him like a storm out of a clear blue sky.

His gaze shot up to hers and he hoped to Darkness the fiery desire of that thought wasn’t in his eyes right then. Not that he didn’t expect to be attracted to women or to have sexual cravings, because he was still a man, after all, but not toward her when she might see and be further insulted.

She’s the one who stripped to the skin, his libido reminded him dryly. What does she think is going to happen?

“We have time to settle this,” he said, really quite impressed with himself for his flawless tone of voice. “The sai will take a week to make. Instead of throwing tantrums, we might discuss this.” He held out her clothes to her. “Please dress yourself.”

Her response was rude, crude, and, he was certain, anatomically impossible. He wondered how furious she’d be the day he asked her to tell him where she’d learned language like that.

She marched up to him, shoving the clothing out of his grip and onto the floor. Her face was flushed with her anger, her dark eyes like amber on fire.

“Don’t you dare talk to me in that condescending, holier-than-thou tone like I’m some kind of recalcitrant child pitching a fit! I am no child! And you will damn well stop trying to train me like a puppy with rewards and treats if I’m a good girl and withholding if I am bad! If that’s the way this relationship is going, I am walking out of this gilded cage and never coming back. I don’t care what you dreamed with me or what price you paid. I’d rather be a slave in my aunt’s house than a well-heeled lapdog for you!”

Then she swung at him. She almost caught him, too. Would have served him right for letting himself be distracted by the way her furious body language jolted through her amazing breasts. Gods, you’d think you’d never seen a naked woman before! he tried to sternly lecture himself. Just the same, he caught her wrist tightly in hand, saving himself a bruise, and jerked the little spitfire forward and off balance. She crashed into him, all softness and warmth everywhere, and Magnus instantly recognized his error. She was too close. Much too close. Now that she had bathed and groomed herself, she had an incredible scent that rode on her body warmth like a dolphin skimming waves. He was eye to eye with her, nose to nose with that fury as she glared up at him, but all he could think about was the aroma wafting up from all of that bare skin. Sweet. Soft. Yes, it was like sweet whipped cream. Light and delicious and decadent.

“Drenna, you smell good.”

Oh, Light and damnation. Had he just said that aloud?

Obviously he had. The shock on her face was probably only half as amusing as his, and his throat was completely paralyzed as he tried to figure out how to counter such an incredibly stupid blunder. He’d be lucky to walk out of that room without severely bruised balls.

“Excuse me?” she said numbly, her free arm curling protectively across her chest.

Magnus had lived a long time and advised a great many people on how to repair all kinds of situations, but he was at a complete loss right then. He reacted, breaking away from her and walking around her toward the bath at a rapid clip. He should have gone for the hall, but he didn’t doubt for a second that she would follow him just as she was. She wasn’t the type who made threats she wasn’t prepared to follow through with. He was passing the water when she caught up to him, grabbed his arm with both hands, and forced him to turn toward her.

“We haven’t settled this!” she hissed at him. “Don’t you dare walk away in the middle of an argument.”

“What are you going to do if I do?” he snapped irritably. “I’m done. We’ll talk when you are rational and clothed.”

“Oh! Fuck you!”

That mouth. Quite the weapon, just as he had suspected. And just distracting enough for her to throw all of her kinetic force into a huge shove that sent him staggering back off balance.

Magnus hit the bath with the most satisfying splash Daenaira had ever heard. Uniform, weapons; the whole kit and caboodle. She probably shouldn’t have jumped and cheered. She should have been running really fast. Instead she waited for him to surface, hands on her hips and a smug smile on her lips.

“That will teach you to brush me off, you big jerk. And for making me swear at a priest!”

She held her chin up and marched back to her room. She found her blouse on the floor and tugged it on quickly. This time, there was no way he could be silent as he approached her. For one, he was streaming water. For another, he was rip-roaring mad, and there was no mistaking it in his step. Just as he reached for her, she figured they were going to kill each other. They were both so dominant they would end up tearing each other apart to make a point.

But quite abruptly he seemed to stop behind her. After a moment or two of listening to him drip on the floor, she turned and looked over her shoulder at him. He was soaked, of course, and his jaw was clenched as tight as his fists. She tried not to look too superior as she lifted a questioning brow.

“Can I touch you?”

The request rasped out of him on a hard breath, a combination of his repressed anger and…she had no idea what else. She’d never heard anything like it before. Surprise and curiosity warred with common sense and, more importantly, the understanding that despite his roaring temper he was struggling to keep his promise to her. Struggling and succeeding. Daenaira had very little experience with how to respond to someone respecting her wishes. Considering the indignant dunking she’d just given him, she couldn’t help the desire to relent—and to see just what he was going to do.

“Yes,” she said, obviously surprising him. It passed quickly, however, and she turned forward as he stepped up tightly against her back. Oh, he was vibrating with anger. She could feel it all through her body. When his hand touched her waist and slid around to cover her bare stomach, she couldn’t help but jolt at the wetness and heat, and the dread of what he was going to do next.

“It’s time you started learning your duties and the rules to go with them,” he said in a low and dangerous tone.

“Rules. I see. You mean when I can and cannot have a will of my own.”

“I mean respect for the religious role you are playing, as well as for mine. If you have no interest in that, then you should leave. I will find somewhere for you to go and live in peace, and that will be the end of it.”

“That better not be an empty promise,” she said sharply. “I’m obviously not the right person for you. I don’t care what Drenna thinks or what you think.”

“You are more right for me than you know,” he corrected her, the soft promise in his voice as it whispered lightly over her ear giving her all-new kinds of chills. Was there such a thing as hot chills? There had to be, because they were scudding over every inch of her skin, making all kinds of things pucker in response. “I don’t want a lapdog, little spitfire. I had one, and she turned on me and went for my throat.”

Dae gasped and spun around in his hands, making her realize they were both on her waist, but she didn’t even care about that. She instinctively laid her hands on the wet fabric lying over his strong chest.

“I want a companion, K’yindara, who is going to fight tooth and nail to make me realize what she wants and needs. I want a partner who will beat the shit out of anyone who tries to screw with her head. I want—” He stopped and she saw him struggling to crush the emotions trying to overrun him. Unable to help herself, she reached up and smoothed her fingers over his mouth again, strangely unable to bear the strain she saw drawing at it so painfully.

“What do you want?” she asked him, whisper soft, creating a cloud of intimacy around them with her gestures of kindness. Dae knew he understood she was not a kind person. Not that she liked to show, at least.

Magnus raised a hand to her face, his thumb tracking over her lower lip slowly as he cupped her jaw in his palm. Here, he thought, was temptation in its glory. Its finest moment. Even though she showed the discoloration from the guard striking her, she had symmetry to her features that drew attention to her sleekly beautiful eyes, their sultry tilt such a flirtation. And the perfect foil was her mouth with its curvy, succulent lips.

“I want to trust you,” he admitted, though it was a hard, harsh thing to do. “And I am afraid I won’t be able to.”

“Because of the bitch that bit you?”

That made him smile for some reason. He supposed it was the way she stripped the bullshit away from everything and laid it all out the way it was. He could get used to that. Although he wasn’t sure about the rest of Sanctuary.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Well, just keep in mind, I’m a whole new kind of bitch, okay? And I won’t bite unless one of two things happens.”

“I’m listening.”

“First, you don’t ever try to cut my balls off just so you can be top dog over me. I won’t do it to you if you don’t do it to me. We’ll figure out some way of doing this on equal footing. Okay?”

“I can live with that. Give me room for some minor screw-ups?”

“Very minor,” she warned.

“Deal. And don’t ever give me a reason not to trust you, K’yindara. I know I don’t feel it yet, but I’m trying, and Darkness help you if you ever betray me for any reason. You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘penance’ until you cross me.”

“Deal.” She gave him a succinct nod.

“And what’s the second thing that would make you bite, K’yindara?”

She grinned.

“If you ask me to, of course.”

“Of course,” Magnus sighed. He stepped back and looked down at her body. “Are you going to get dressed now?”

“Are you?” she countered, impishly eyeing the damage she’d done.

“Yes, brat.” He pushed her away and started for the door.

“Daenaira,” she corrected. “Or Dae. Brat is so passé.”

The information stopped him in his tracks and he looked back at her with an inscrutable look on his face.

“Fine,” he said, continuing into the bath before calling back to her, “and if the wood of my scabbards warps, Daenaira, I’m taking each one across your backside.”

Dae snorted softly at that, not believing it for a minute.

She was so tense he could have snapped her in two.

Magnus watched Daenaira out of the corner of his eye because she hadn’t moved from the spot exactly one pace behind him and a little to the right. She had followed him into the dining hall and looked like she wanted to bolt ever since. Well, to him she did. To anyone else she looked quite placid. But placid on Daenaira was just wrong. He had the damp hair to prove it.

When she had dunked him, he had wanted to wring her neck so badly his palms had itched. He’d been ready to blow up, to do everything she was probably expecting him to do, no doubt proving to her that people were the same no matter who and no matter what. Then he had realized that he was supposed to be better than all of that. He was supposed to be gaining her trust. Instead, he was doing exactly like she said, trying to train her like a child that needed to behave. No chains, no electrocution, same intent.

Gods, had he felt like an ass.

Now he had her swimming in the deep end of Sanctuary society when he should have taken it easy on her this first night and dined alone with her in his rooms. He was really racking up points for being a thoughtless idiot today. The idea made him frown. He was supposed to be better than this. It was too late now, though. She had to be introduced to everyone now that some of them had seen her. Besides, he wanted her to have the freedom to walk around Sanctuary unquestioned as soon as possible. She shouldn’t feel confined to her rooms.

Dae stood very still, her eyes on the crowded room as her heart raced at the sheer volume of people. She hadn’t anticipated this. Such a wide array of such beautiful men wearing the violet slacks and tunic of priests, and all those well-heeled women at their elbows in midnight blue. She felt like an imposter. A pretender.

“Well, Magnus, who is this?” one of the handsome men asked, smiling down at her.

She instantly disliked him. Disingenuous and perfect, his smile rang false.

“M’jan Shiloh, this is K’yan Daenaira, my new handmaiden.”

“Drenna has blessed you,” Shiloh said expansively, reaching to seize her hand. She jerked both hands behind herself and stepped closer to Magnus’s back, hating herself for the reaction. “Shy little thing, isn’t she?”

“It’s her first night. I remember being overwhelmed myself,” Magnus said easily. “Dae, this is K’yan Nicoya. She is M’jan Shiloh’s handmaiden.”

Now Nicoya was familiar. Just the surety and superiority of her smile told Dae exactly who she was. All she was missing was the nine-tailed cat. Tall, majestic, and beautiful, she was definitely the queen bitch in charge. Daenaira stayed right where she was, very carefully guarding her tongue and other impulses. She could make enemies just as well later as now. Meanwhile, she let Nicoya think she was as delta as they came.

Things were not looking very promising so far.

“M’jan Cort and K’yan Tiana,” Magnus continued.

Dae never lost track of a single name or face. Nor did she greet anyone differently than the rest, despite how easily she felt she could read most of them. In the end, there were a few she liked, a few she did not, and surprisingly a few she couldn’t get a bead on. One such was the priest named Sagan. He had no handmaiden, and from what she gathered he hadn’t had one for some time, and it was a point of interest to everyone else but the tall, silent man. He had clearly heard it all before and didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. His idea of greeting her was a cool nod before continuing on his way. She couldn’t decide if he was being rude or if, for the first time, someone had gotten the picture that she wasn’t in the mood to be slathered with social graces.

She didn’t understand the handmaiden named Greta at all. That the veteran handmaiden was hostile toward her was clear. She didn’t even hide it from Magnus, which was probably pretty ballsy. Dae could actually respect that. However, she didn’t care for being judged without having even done anything yet. She liked to earn her contempt the old-fashioned way…by pissing people off.

K’yan Hera was going to be interesting. She was the first woman Dae had ever met of such an advanced age that she actually had developed silver streaks in her black hair and crow’s feet by the corners of her eyes. Dae wondered how old exactly one had to be before they started showing it like that. Had this woman been a handmaiden for every single one of those years? There had to be some kind of retirement plan, didn’t there? But besides her agedness, the human equivalent of nearing fifty as Dae understood it, she had a keen smile and a sparkle in her eyes that gave Daenaira the feeling she had been sized up to perfection at first glance and, thankfully, given a measure of approval. All without a single word spoken or a hand shaken.

One she liked, though, was M’jan Brendan. She quickly realized that he was the closest thing Magnus had to a best friend in this place. The two men came together and for the first time, she felt Magnus’s body relax. He became easy and friendlier. Brendan teased her for hiding.

“Magnus, where’s your katana?” Brendan asked as they were eating at the same table later that evening, lifting a brow in clear surprise to find Magnus’s entire weapons belt missing.

“Being cleaned,” he said without missing a beat.

Daenaira choked on her wine as she tried to swallow a laugh at the same time. Brendan caught the undercurrent but for the life of him couldn’t figure it out. He sprawled back in his seat, relaxed and casual as he eyed the newest handmaiden.

“You surprise me, Magnus. I’ve never seen a priest take another handmaiden so fast. It’s been a year since I lost Nan to Crush, and I still can’t find a replacement.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be replacing her. You should be finding a new companion.”

Brendan instantly sat up with surprise and a laugh. “I’ll be damned. She can talk.”

“Only when I have something important to say,” she noted.

Brendan looked to Magnus, who gave him a single-shouldered shrug.

“I see,” Brendan countered, “and you know this after a single evening of being a handmaiden?”

“No.” She paused a beat, just long enough for him to get cocky. “I’m not a handmaiden until I take my vows. I just know this because I am a sensitive woman with a brain. Excuse me.”

She stood up and left the table, keeping her smile hidden until she was out of the dining hall. Once she was out of sight, she breathed a sigh of relief to be hidden from so many staring, contemplating gazes. Dae had paid careful attention to the route they had taken to the dining hall, and she moved quickly to backtrack. She didn’t know where the more public bathrooms were, so her only choices were to go back into that organized chaos and ask someone for help or to just go back to her room.

It was probably silly for her to practice avoidance. After all, she had grown up in a full and rowdy crowd far more dangerous than this one. It had just been a few years since she had been with so many people.

She was on the stairwell when suddenly there was a flash of brilliant and burning light. She screamed, terrified as any ’Dweller would be, as she was scalded and blinded. The burn was sharp and quick and then gone. A strobe of some kind. Her heart was pounding as she stumbled back down to the last landing, trying to keep her footing and hear what was happening around her. How far was she from the hall? With all those people in it, if she screamed for him, would Magnus hear her? Their senses were keen, but this was stone, earth and sheets of marble in her way.

She heard a step behind her almost too late. She threw her back to the wall as a fist blew past her, glancing off her already bruised cheek, which pissed her off mightily. Dae heard cloth as the punch overshot, and she reacted, in an automatic lock of her muscle and bone, trapping the arm to her body. Now she was completely oriented to her attacker, although not knowing their height would throw her off for a moment. She wasn’t certain, but she thought it was a woman. A beefy woman or a lean man, she was too blind to tell. She went for the gut, the closest and surest target. She launched herself upward as she yanked down on the arm she held. Her knee hit badly for both of them. She bit back a curse and took satisfaction in the stagger and groan of her opponent.

Right up until she was grabbed from behind, her head nearly wrenched off her neck. Now this was a man, she knew, the sheer strength of him yanking her up off her feet and a wall of muscle against her back. Then she was thrown down onto the floor.

“Keep watch!” he growled, purposely roughing up his voice, she knew. She struggled to figure out where his legs were, desperate to orient herself to his body as his hand closed around her windpipe. He said nothing else, and didn’t have to. She felt him shove at her skirts, the damn dress making his plans so easy it infuriated her. She kicked out, clawed out, but made no purchase. He was sighted, pinning her, and too quick.

Tired of fighting her flailing legs, he rolled her over as he bared her backside to the cool stairwell air.

Not while I’m conscious, she thought viciously.

Turning her had forced him to relinquish his grasp on her throat, and she could breathe. She sucked in air and tried to think. She felt his weight then, heavy and oppressive, and hot flesh pressing to her below the waist.

Thanks, asshole, that’s all I wanted.

A target.

She shot her hand back, grabbed a handful of whatever she could, and twisted mercilessly. His scream was absolute nirvana. When she didn’t let go, digging her nails in to boot, his partner jumped in and kicked her in the head.

Stunned, she rolled on the floor until she suddenly dropped off the landing and down the next set of stairs. She all but threw herself into the tumble, not even stopping to get a breath when she hit the next landing. She stumbled for the door, shoving through it and onto the dining hall floor.

“Magnus!”

Brendan was gaping, he knew, as the not-so-shy girl exited the room.

“Boy, she’s got you pegged,” Magnus remarked, pausing in his meal to grin at his friend.

“Yeah, huh? I think I’m jealous.”

“No, you’re not,” Magnus returned calmly, although Brendan knew there was nothing calm about it. It was a warning, plain and simple. It made Brendan frown. The Magnus he knew would never have been that insecure. It infuriated him, thinking of how screwed up everything had gotten with Karri. Poison! The idea of a man like Magnus being left to die that way! It was unconscionable. The man was a warrior and should die as a warrior, not at the deceitful hand of the one woman he had trusted the most.

“Probably not,” he agreed. “I like them a little more on the loyal and bubble-headed side. Like Nan was.”

“Nan was a fantastic lady. Darkness keep her safe.”

“I know. And I miss her like hell.” Brendan shed the emotions that came with the thought by smiling. “Especially around bath time.”

“Bren.” Magnus chuckled.

“Well, she had a way with a sponge,” he said unrepentantly.

“Keep it up, I’ll have you doing penance for besmirching the dead.”

Brendan wisely changed tack, although he went for the throat when he did. “How do you feel about Daenaira?”

Magnus knew Brendan was just about the only one who would have dared ask the question. He supposed it needed asking, though. “I’ll let you know when I know her for longer than five seconds.”

“You don’t even have a feel for her yet? Where’d she come from? She’s not a student here. I would remember, err, her attributes.”

“Bad edit, my friend,” Magnus warned him. “A little respect, please.”

“You’re right. Sorry. But, uh, I was talking about her hair color, my friend,” Brendan said with amusement.

Magnus looked up in surprise. Brendan had a huge grin on his face, enjoying having his trap walked into so neatly. Magnus had no choice but to smile a bit sheepishly. “Yeah. She’s got quite the, uh…”

“Hair color,” Brendan added helpfully.

Both men chuckled.

“Magnus!”

Brendan watched his friend freeze for three of the longest heartbeats on record, and then they were both on their feet and running. Magnus touched his hip as he ran, but there was no weapon there. Brendan grabbed for his backup, a Lithe dagger, and slapped it into the other priest’s palm. They both tore down the hall toward the main stairwell, hoping to Drenna that she called out again because everything split off from there. Then Magnus came up short.

“No. She doesn’t know this way. She wouldn’t wander.”

He doubled back, cursing himself for not thinking straight. It was only another corridor to the back stairs, but it seemed like miles as his heart raced with dread and worse.

When he saw her crawling over the floor, he felt the world drop out from under him. He dropped to his knees as he skidded to a halt beside her, the dagger clattering to the floor as he gathered her up tightly to himself.

“Where?” he rasped, unable to catch his breath as she clung as hard to him as he did to her.

“The stairs,” she said.

Brendan was off in a flash, running through the doors behind them.

“Gods, let me look at you,” he demanded, dropping his hold a few inches so he could see her. She was burned. Her face was bright red, her hands and chest as well. “What in Light did they do to you?”

“A light. A strobe. Gods, it burned! I can’t see.” She swallowed and coughed, and he wanted to hold her tighter but feared hurting her where she was scorched. “He tried to…shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

She was going to cry like some big stupid baby. Dae did not cry. She fought. She won or she lost, but she never cried.

“Tell me you fought really, really dirty,” he commanded of her.

“Like mud in a pig’s sty,” she said with a shaking laugh that helped thwart the urge to cry. “I think I have penis under my nails.”

Magnus laughed, a hard fall of sound as he hugged her tight again despite his concerns. “See, that’s what I wanted. A fighter.”

“Okay, but please can we keep it to once a day? That was a bit of overkill.”

“Yes, baby, it was. I’m so sorry. I can’t seem to keep any promises for you today. I said no one would touch you.”

“Well, I touched harder. That counts for something.”

“Yeah, it sure does.”

Magnus looked up when Brendan came back through the doors and shook his head.

“Aw, fuck. I can’t believe he got up!” she grumbled when she realized Brendan had returned empty-handed. “I thought I had him good.”

“You blooded him well enough,” Brendan said with a grin.

“Great. Now we just have to get everyone to drop their drawers and we’ll have our man,” she said dryly.

“Okay, let’s get you back to our rooms,” Magnus said softly, rising to his feet with her.

“She should go to a healer.”

“No!” It was a single, terrible word, but it spoke volumes about Magnus’s shattered trust. Brendan wasn’t inclined to push him again.

“I found this. This guy had a damn death wish, using something this strong.” Brendan showed Magnus a battery-operated lamp with a focused beam of light before he shattered the bulb against a wall. “Where the hell does someone get something like this down here?”

Magnus and Brendan looked at each other.

“Hydroponics,” they said together.

“Yeah, that stands for ‘the place with the lights,’” Dae sighed.

“It’s a highly secure area. Very few people have access to it. This could narrow our search immensely,” Magnus told her.

“Great. Magnus?”

“Yes, K’yindara?”

“Can I have the heavy sai now?”