Chapter Seventeen

 

Hudson woke on the dirt floor of a hut, hands secured behind his back, feet tied together. He tried to open his eyes, but one was swollen shut, the inside of his mouth the same texture of the white sand he was face down on. He must've groaned because someone threw water over him. He sucked the moisture off his lips, grateful for the small drink.

“Get him up.”

Someone helped him to his feet and then had to keep him steady as the rickety hut spun around him. A man with sunbaked skin and a graying buzz cut stepped in front of Hudson. His breath carried the hint of whiskey, but his gaze was clear and assessing.

“We seem to have a problem,” he said. “The Elder outside says you stole his wife, but the woman insists that she belonged to you first. We checked her Mark, but we have no way of knowing if the Elder stole her from you or not. Or if your name is even Hudson Black Creek Land. Personally, that Syon prick gives me the creeps. Tattooing is one thing, but anyone who burns his name into the back of his woman doesn't deserve one. However, I don't make the rules, just uphold them.”

Hudson was really interested in the conversation, he really was, but his vision kept going in and out and the next thing he knew, there was more water in his face.

“Damn, how hard did you hit him on the head?”

A burly man with a square-shaped head helped him to his feet and then tapped him on each cheek. “Come on, bro. You gotta get your head in the game. They're gonna make you fight him, and he looks like he's in pretty good shape for an old dude.”

Gray-haired, buzz-cut was back in his line of vision. “See, I have a problem. I can't just let either one of you have her. Need to uphold some type of law around here. So here’s the thing. You’ll both fight. Winner takes all.”

He smiled, showing a yellow line of worn-down teeth. “I guess he has a slight advantage since we’ve already kicked the crap out of you, but you can't attack a soldier like that and get away with it.”

Hudson swallowed to find his voice. “Do I have to fight him with my hands tied behind my back?”

Buzz-cut nodded to the man behind him, and soon Hudson's hands were free. Sharp pinpricks of electricity coursed through his fingers as he stretched them.

“So here's the thing,” Buzz-cut continued. “We took away his gun. Not really a fair fight if we hadn't.”

Hudson focused through his one eye. “Really? Did you give him a concussion also?”

Buzz-cut ignored him. “You can have your ax back and anything else you need. We would have declared winner to the one who drew first blood, but that Syon prick wanted none of that. Man wants your head on a stake.”

Hudson laughed. “The only way one of us is walking out of here is if the other is dead. That’s the only way this is going to end.”

Buzz-cut nodded. “That's what I thought. We'll give you some water and your ax when you get outside.” He stopped at the door, then turned toward Hudson. “Hey, just in case it helps, we're all rooting for you. And a word of advice, end this quick, not sure how much longer you'll be able to stay on your feet.”

And with those words of confidence, Buzz-cut opened the door to the outside. Sunlight streamed in with a sharp burst of pain inside Hudson’s skull, and for the third time in one day, he saw the ground of white, hot sand come rushing toward him.

 

 

 

 

***

 

Lake lost ten years off her life as she watched Hudson fall face down in the sand. Two soldiers, one on each side, picked him up and dragged him out to where a small group had gathered. Lake made to run to Hudson, but the guard, with meaty hands and a limited vocabulary, stopped her.

As the soldier holding Hudson called for more water, Lake watched Syon prepare for the battle. This man may have years on Hudson, but he'd had a steady supply of microbiotics and no injuries. After two years in his home, she knew this man. She knew that Syon thought he’d already won—maybe he had.

His confidence was in every movement. How he disrobed into just his brown homespun pants. How he drew his sword out, slicing it through the air, the quick movements emphasizing years of training and instinct. There was a cold, calculated presence that gave Syon the edge. He didn't let emotion cloud his judgment. Anger and hate didn't pump through his blood, but deliberate cruelty.

And Lake knew something else—Syon could inflict pain. He knew how the human body worked. How to torque a sword just so to cause the maximum amount of damage. He fed on men's screams. On the fear that sprang up into their eyes when they realized that their death was imminent, but never painless.

Hudson was roused, though it took a long time for him to come up off his knees. Finally on his feet, he indicated he wanted a drink. From a pail he sipped some water, swished it around in his mouth than spat red onto the white sand at Syon's feet.

Syon lurched as if to strike Hudson down where he stood. A guard stopped him.

Hudson glared at Syon with a lopsided smile. He straightened, stripped down to his pants, then used a small tie to secure his hair back.

It had been years since Lake had seen Hudson naked in broad daylight, and her nightly dreams hadn't done him justice. His shoulders were broad and tanned from years in the sun. His arms were corded with strength that rippled under his skin like a skipped stone across a stilled pond. His waist narrowed into the flexed demarcation of his abdominals. His pants rode low on his hips, showing off the corded male muscle that separated the proper from the indecent.

A soldier handed him his ax and a long knife. He moved both weapons like they were extensions of his body. Each whistle through the air was music to Lake’s ears. A rusty nail to hang her hopes upon.

Her husband wasn't just sexy, he was a warrior.

Syon's body looked pale and weak in comparison, but Lake knew the truth. Underneath his frail-looking frame lay the coiled strength of a snake. He would parry and strike and wear down his opponent and wait for the best moment to attack. Lake could only hope that Hudson would be able to withstand the wait.

***

 

Hudson read the anticipation in Syon’s dark gaze that told him Syon was done playing. Syon was readying himself for the kill—Hudson’s to be exact.

Not that he wasn’t near death already. Syon had spent the last thirty minutes inflicting quick nicks to his arms, ribs, and chest. He felt like a human pincushion, and he knew Syon was just getting started. Sweat poured into Hudson's one good eye, and he kept having to swallow the blood from where he’d bitten his tongue to keep from passing out.

The problem was that Syon was quick. His sword flashing like lightening and striking just as fast. There was a bright flare of pain as Syon's sword found his ribs...again.

He must be bleeding like a stuffed pig by now. His movements were slow, and the grip on his ax slick with his own blood.

Hudson knew he was going to lose this fight. It was inevitable. His arms were like two wooden sticks tied to his sides. His ax couldn't seem to find its way past Syon's sword. He either had to end this now or…now. He was out of time.

Hudson took a step back and disengaged. He just needed a moment. One breath to get the feeling back in his arms. To clear his vision.

Someone was weeping in the distance. Lake? The thought of what Syon would do to her once he was dead should've given him the burst of anger he needed, but nothing seemed to penetrate the dullness in his head. He'd lost too much blood. It was amazing that he'd lasted this long. He had a minute, maybe thirty seconds, before this whole thing would be over. Before he'd be face down in the sand again, but for the last time.

There was a grain of self-gratification as Hudson watched Syon wipe the sweat off his brow. Well, at least he hadn't made it easy for him.

Hudson knew what he had to do. There was no other option left open for him...for Lake. He had to get Syon's damn sword out of the way, just for a second, one small opening, and he could make his move.

He watched Syon to make sure he was ready, then Hudson rushed forward, arm high, torso totally exposed, and watched as Syon's sword got out of the way…by going deep into his gut.