Shield of Fire Read online

  Her nod was barely discernible, but he took the small movement as a yes.

  He slipped an arm around her back and lifted her into a sitting position. The contact roused a long-forgotten thirst he hadn’t experienced in decades. A familiar nudge pressed against his psyche. Now in her presence, with her in his arms, he knew she was the force that had drawn him to the abbey. The connection was undeniable, though denying it was exactly what he tried to do.

  He tethered his thoughts and stood. The prickling of the Bane still lightly played along his arms. He scanned the area but saw no sign of the monk or Icarus. He shifted her in his arms and she stiffened. A visceral protectiveness rose inside Rhys at her discomfort. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m all right.” Such brave words spoken with frail conviction. The lethargy in her voice belied the truth—if he didn’t heal her soon, she’d die. Her head lolled against his shoulder and her arms lay limp in her lap. Blood soaked through her dress. Eventually, her body would give up its fight. Desperation flowed into him as quickly as the sands of her life spilled out.

  Rhys cut a path through the thick woods, where the dense canopy of leaves shielded them from the rain and searching eyes. He dodged trees and brambles, but stumps and deadfalls hampered his progress.

  He knelt and settled her against a large oak. Soft black curls brushed his cheek, the feel like fingertips lightly playing across his skin. A hint of lavender mingled with the scent of mud and wet wool. She was too small, too weak, and he was too aware of how perfect she felt in his arms. Many years had passed since he’d last caressed the rounded contour of a shapely hip or sank into the softness only a woman could provide. Thoughts like these rattled his dedication to duty and honor. He pushed his musings to the place he rarely visited.

  “Lean back so I can take care of your wounds.” Healing came naturally to him, but for the extent of her injuries, his skills were inadequate. He hoped the treatment would sustain her until they reached safety.

  Her eyes searched his face. “Why—” She swallowed hard. “Why help me?”

  How could he answer this question for her when he couldn’t answer it for himself? This is what I do? This is who I am? The reply seemed insufficient. “You’re in need and I’m here.”

  She covered his hand with hers. Her touch released a longing for what could never be. Desire swarmed unbidden through the hollow part of his soul he’d thought long dead. “It’s not safe.”

  Unable to deny himself, he took her hand. “No, my lady, it’s not safe. What kind of a man would I be to leave you defenseless and hurt?”

  He knew nothing of this woman except that she was no mere human. Icarus wanted her, thus adding to her mystery. Rhys didn’t like unanswered questions. Why does she have the power of fire? Is she a Bringer? With great effort he eased open his fingers and released her hand, already missing her touch.

  The bushes behind him rustled and he stood, taking a defensive stance. He held up his hand to silence her words. No hint of the Bane nipped his skin or wafted in the air. That didn’t mean the monk hadn’t followed them.

  From the darkness emerged a black warhorse. Rhys smiled, walked to the animal, and rubbed its ears. “I’m glad to see you’re unscathed by the demon, Sampson.”

  Sampson nickered and tilted his head to receive the full benefit of Rhys’s attention. His constant companion, the horse lived and fought alongside him, and on a deeper level, kept the loneliness at bay.

  Rhys moved to the horse’s side and untied a blanket from behind the saddle. Digging inside his saddlebag, he searched for the few healing supplies he carried. Before the unexpected detour to the abbey, he’d been on his way to restock his provisions. Though not invincible, he rarely had need of them. And because he avoided interaction with humans, the opportunities to heal were few.

  He removed a tear-shaped glass glowb and a small bundle from the bag. After peeling back the oilcloth, he examined the salve and antiseptic. Meager. The medicine would be sufficient until they arrived at the inn—provided there were no more interruptions.

  With great care, he laid out each item on a flat rock near the tree. Two golden pendants with crystal centers, a vial of clear liquid, a small jar of salve, and several cloth strips comprised his medicinal cache. He lifted a pendant and hung the chain around his neck. After picking up the other necklace, he squatted in front of her. “May I put this on you?”

  She eyed it suspiciously. “Why?”

  He held it closer for her to see. “It’s a healing crystal. I can’t guarantee a full recovery, but it’ll help ease some of your discomfort.”

  She dipped her head forward in consent and he draped the long chain on her, settling it between her breasts. Her thumb caressed the golden body of the dragon that cradled the crystal and held the stone in place. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It was my mother’s.” A fact he’d never shared with anybody. “My name is Rhys.”

  Before she could reply her back arched away from the tree as if burned by the trunk. He grabbed her upper arms, unsure of whether he tried to comfort or steady her. Stiff limbs fought against his hold. Tiny tremors rippled along her muscles. Her mouth opened wide in a silent scream.

  He sank next to her in the wet leaves and took her into his arms. What good were all his powers of protection and centuries of experience if he couldn’t spare her pain? As the spasm passed he relaxed, but his relief was short-lived. A fit of coughing besieged her and all he could do was hold her until the attack eased.

  When the coughing subsided, she lay heavily in his arms. He brushed the damp hair from her forehead and flinched. Heat radiated against his palm. After easing her against the tree, he slid his fingers under her chin and lifted her face. Flushed cheeks and glassy eyes heralded the onset of a fever. Her condition was deteriorating much too quickly.

  He pitched his voice low. “What’s your name?”

  Uncomprehending eyes stared at him and he knew she didn’t see him.

  “What’s your name?”

  She shifted her gaze to meet his eyes but said nothing.

  Desperation pulled at him. He would save her. “What is your name?”

  After several seconds, she whispered, “Ravyn.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “I’m going to heal you, Ravyn. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “I need you to stay awake. Can you do that?”

  Not waiting for her response, he opened himself to the healing spirits. Ancient words flowed from his memory and trickled over his lips. The chant’s resonance tuned itself to the surroundings. It coaxed energy from the trees, animals, and even the rain. He closed his eyes and offered himself as a vessel to the spirits.

  The breeze buffeted his hair, the entities’ dance building in intensity. The song from the creatures of the forest crested over his melodic chant. The woods pulsed with life, the spirits calling on each animal, insect, and plant to give of itself and share its energy with a dying girl.

  Without hesitation, the creatures gave. Without expectation, they gave. Without judgment, they gave. If only all living beings gifted so freely.

  Ageless intelligence encircled the camp, charging the air around them. Harmony ebbed and flowed. Songlike voices blended with the blue haze building in his mind. Trails of golden light flooded from him and every living thing, like healing rivers. The glow penetrated Ravyn and saturated each cell of her body, reviving her.

  Her need called upon him to give selflessly. She devoured the rejuvenating essence. The ritual connected them in a way he’d never connected with another person. Lulled by the union, he dropped his barriers and gave all to Ravyn. Such beauty. If only he could stay here forever and leave the ugly, cold world behind.

  Too quickly, the golden light flickered and dimmed, pulling away from Ravyn and leaving his body. The music of the forest faded. As the last spirits dissolved, the blackness of the night settled upon them and swallowed the last bit of their warmth and solace.

  He opened his eyes and pl
aced a hand to her forehead. Cool. “Are you all right?”

  Ravyn stared, wide-eyed and openmouthed. She sat up. “What happened?”

  “My feeble attempt to heal you. I’m afraid my skills are minimal. How do you feel?”

  She swallowed hard. “Better, thank you.”

  He relaxed. She was awake and talking coherently, all good signs.

  He picked up the tear-shaped glowb and cupped it in his hands. With pursed lips, he gently blew on the glass. A pinprick of light radiated at the heart of the teardrop. He blew again. The tiny white flower in the center flared to life, casting a luminescence bright enough for him to see her injuries. The white light spilled across Ravyn’s torso.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Magic?”

  “I suppose it’s a bit like magic.” He held out the glass to her. “The Illuminara petals glow when warmed.”

  She made no response, only eyed him warily. He set the glowb on a ground next to her. “Are you in pain?”

  “Yes, but not like before.”

  “I wish my friend Nattie were here. She’s a great healer.”

  “Better than you?”

  He smiled and brushed a wet lock of hair from her face. “My talents are a disgrace compared to her abilities.”

  She grimaced. “That’s hard to believe.”

  He selected a cloth strip and dipped it in the antiseptic. “I’m going to place these bandages over your injuries. I’ll be quick, but you’ll need to remove your dress from your shoulders.”

  She stared, taking his measure. He held her gaze. If the woman hadn’t been injured he was certain she would have bolted like a spooked horse. After several seconds, she gave a slight nod. Her fingers tugged at the tie on the front of her gown, but the cord tangled. She yanked harder. His fingers itched to help, but he didn’t offer. Despite her best effort, she only managed to turn the bow into a knotted mess.

  Defeated, she lowered her hands and looked at him. “Please?”

  Rhys deftly unraveled the knot and loosened the laces. Ravyn arched away from his touch as he eased the bloody material from her shoulders. The foreign awareness taunted him. He flattened his palm against her skin and slid the neck of her dress lower, making sure to avoid the open wounds. The bodice came to rest halfway down the swell of her breasts.

  He swallowed. Yes, it had been too long.

  Ravyn glanced at her injuries and gasped. Blood smeared her shoulders and chest. The ragged and torn flesh puckered around her puncture wounds. “Holy Mother!”

  “Lean forward, I want to see your other wounds.”

  She bent and he shifted to peer over her back. Her arm pressed into his chest and a mixture of mud and lavender teased his nose. Warm, slick skin grazed his fingers. He tilted his face into her hair and inhaled.

  Her voice rumbled softly against his chest. “Are they bad?”

  He held her scent for a second longer before sitting back on his heels. “They’re clean, but deep. They’ll need stitching, but not here. We’ll travel to an inn after you’ve rested a bit.”

  The pitch of her voice rose an octave. “Stitching?”

  “Without it, infection may set in.”

  “Will your friend Nattie be at the inn?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” He paused, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re not afraid of a little needle, are you?”

  She blurted her answer without any sign of shame. “I’d rather go another round with that creature than have you stick me with a needle.”

  “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you didn’t fare very well in the fight.”

  “It took me by surprise.”

  “Yes, that’s usually the point of an attack.”

  Her posture stiffened. “I can take care of myself.”

  He recognized pride when he heard it and he had just stepped all over hers. Perhaps riling her would rouse her fighting spirit. He laced his neutral tone with a hint of sarcasm. “Like you did tonight?”

  If possible, her spine straightened even more. “I’m not without skills. I have…talents.”

  “Talents? That sounds mysterious.” He held up a cloth strip saturated in the antiseptic and laid the bandage across her wound. “These will help with the healing.”

  “Holy Sainted Ones, it burns.” Her outrage bounced off the surrounding trees. “That’s worse than being stitched up. You could have warned me first.”

  A faint vapor of steam rose from her dress. Rhys frowned. “And lose the element of surprise? What kind of a warrior would I be if I did that?”

  He wasn’t sure but he thought she growled at him. Despite his efforts to keep the mood light, the pain on her face summoned his sympathy. Battle wounds were nothing new for him, their pain a reminder of his duty. He rarely thought about the punishment he heaped on his body. But for someone small and delicate like Ravyn, living through an attack from Icarus garnered both his assistance and his respect.

  He held another dripping strip between his fingers. “Are there any other holy spirits you wish to invoke before I lay this on you?”

  She pinched her lips together and shook her head. A hiss squeezed out when the cloth touched her wound. He wrapped a long, dry cloth around the wet strips and neatly tied off the end. He repeated the process on her other shoulder, receiving the same fervent exclamations from his patient.

  When finished, he examined his handiwork. “That should do until we get to the inn.”

  She gingerly prodded the bandage. “Inn?”

  “Yes.” He pinned her with a stare, sensing her reluctance. “You need to heal and it’s not safe here.”

  Ravyn glanced away and seemed to focus on her injuries. “What was that thing that attacked me?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No.” She continued to examine the bandages a little too intently. When he didn’t answer, she finally looked up. “What?”

  How could she not know? “It was a Demon Bane.”

  She gave an unladylike snort. “The Bane? They’re just a myth used to scare children into behaving. They’re not real.” She paused, her expression growing serious. “Are they?”

  “I assure you that they are very real, my lady.” He pointed to the bandages. His gaze didn’t waver.

  She shook her head as if the idea wouldn’t take hold. “But why would it be after me?”

  “My question exactly.”

  “Well I certainly don’t know.” Her gaze searched his face. “I’ve lived my entire life in Menda Abbey. This is the first time I can remember being outside the gates. I was never allowed.” She shivered. “I left because of Brother Powell.”

  “Was he the man at the gate?”

  “Yes. He’s a monk at the abbey.”

  “He knew Icarus.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Icarus?”

  “The demon.”

  She searched the darkness around them, her eyes widening in alarm. How could she not be frightened with everything she’d been through tonight? His Shield intuition told him he’d stumbled onto more than a simple demon attack. Whether for her own good or not, it appeared Ravyn had been held as a willing prisoner at the abbey. And with Icarus’s assault, Rhys could only assume the location of her imprisonment was the key: sanctified ground. The Bane couldn’t enter, and if she’d never left, she would have been safe.

  Her gaze drifted back to him but her voice dropped to a whisper. “I never realized how evil Powell was until tonight. He killed my friend. She’s dead because of me.”

  Tears brimmed but refused to spill. She looked at her hands and sniffed, perhaps to hide her grief. Rhys admired her strength of will, no matter how misguided. She was a strong and caring friend, a leader who didn’t run from a fight. Those traits would be good qualities. If he could direct them in a useful way.

  He leaned closer and lifted her chin so their eyes met. “Do not claim responsibility for other people’s actions. Taking on the sorrows of the world will cripple you and eventually drive you mad.”

  Her eyes
searched his face. “Do you speak from experience?”

  His throat tightened. How many decades had it been since somebody looked at him with such open compassion? Like the stone that disturbs a glassy lake, her concern sent ripples deep and wide.

  When he said nothing, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tree. “So why would the Demon Bane want me? I’m nobody of importance.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” He stood and walked to Sampson, placing the medical supplies and glowb back in his saddlebag. “If the demon had been a Deceiver or an Enticer, I might agree the Bane were merely having sport. But the demon who attacked you was Icarus, second-in-command of the entire Demon Bane. He’s a Spoil, one of the first true Bane. They’re capable of soul-stealing. Once stolen, the soul will never find its way through the Veil. It stays locked forever in the Shadow World.”

  “Angela.” Her words hitched in her throat. Two tears broke free and rolled down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes and looked at him. “When I touched her all I felt was a crushing blackness.”

  He didn’t react to the information she had unknowingly revealed. A piece of her puzzle fell into place. Was she a Bringer? Her ability to know and feel things by touch would mark her as a Bringer Tell.

  He knelt in front of her and brushed away a tear with the pad of his thumb. His words sounded empty, but he needed her to stay strong. “There was nothing you could do. I’ve fought thousands of demons and I assure you, they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. The Bane want you. If it hadn’t been Angela it would have been somebody else.”

  Round, pale-blue eyes stared back at him.

  He held her gaze, wanting her to understand the importance of what he said. “You must believe and remember that the demons will stop at nothing.”

  The battle between guilt and the desire to believe him played across her face. “You’re not safe, then?”

  He smiled. “My lady, I’m never safe from the Bane. Now, sit forward so I can help you with your dress.”

  His fingers brushed her skin as he tugged the coarse wool back into place. She winced, slowing the material’s climb. Though he tried, he couldn’t prevent his eyes from wandering to the round swells of her breasts. Knowing his lust still thrived comforted him. Too bad it decided to come alive at such an inappropriate time. He ran his hand down her sleeve. “Your dress is dry.” He met her eyes. “And very warm.”