Chapter Ten

 

The Beginning

 

“Wake up, Bryant! If the captain catches you nodding off again we’ll both be for it.”

Bryant shot his companion Marsden a glare, shoving him with the haft of his halberd. “I’m not sleeping, you fool.”

Marsden shifted his weight, planting the handle of his weapon on one booted toe. “When are they rotating us back? This is sheer boredom out here.”

Bryant chuckled, cuffing his partner on a mailed shoulder. “You mean you want to get your hands on that sweet piece, eh?”

Marsden narrowed his eyes. “Don’t act as if you don’t either, you randy bastard.”

Bryant shrugged. “It will happen in good time. She’s not going anywhere, so I’ll get my turn eventually.”

Marsden stilled, bringing the blade of his halberd down as if to parry a blow.

“What is it, Marsden?”

“Out there,” Marsden whispered, the bushy whiskers of his black beard concealing the movement of his lips. “Do you see it?”

Bryant moved forward, his weapon at the ready. “This is the Night Road. State your business or be arrested.”

A tall figure, dressed in a long hooded coat of darkest jet emerged into the guttering torch light. The hood hid the features of the face completely, inky blackness shrouding the visage.

“State your business, traveler. Now.” Bryant snapped a quick look back at Marsden. “Be ready to sound the—”

Bryant’s eyes grew wide. “Marsden, behind you!”

The gleaming steel of a sword seemed to materialize from nothingness, slashing down at Marsden’s back. The blade cleaved into his neck, the chain mail giving way with a crunch. Marsden dropped to his knees, a gurgling sound coming from his gaping mouth, then pitched forward onto his face. His body twitched once, then was still.

“Business?”

Bryant slowly turned back to the black-clad figure.

“Hmm, my business.”

Bryant’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. The tall figure before him opened his coat, a shimmering blade emerging. Twin points of silver flame shone under the hood.

“My business is death, human.”

Bryant opened his mouth to scream, but the blade ended his life before he could emit a sound. Bryant’s head rolled on the ground, the man’s body keeling over like a felled tree.

The figure with the silver fire eyes stooped to one knee, wiping the smooth steel of his blade on the dead soldier’s cloak. Marsden’s killer appeared fully from the night, cleaning his own blade of the blood that, in the low light, looked black as oil.

The kneeling figure looked up at his companion. “Give the word, Taidon.”

* * *

 

Sophie heard the thump of the door opening to the servants’ quarters. Like much else at Westwood Manor, she’d come to dread that sound. She shivered, lying on her side, nearly naked but for a brief smock that barely reached the tops of her thighs. The guards had been cruel, leaving her hands bound in front of her, the cuffs locked to a length of chain that prevented her from bringing her hands down to the level of her head. Her ankles, similarly locked, prevented her from leaving the bed, but did allow her some leeway for turning. Her cuffed arms ensured lying on her front would be nearly impossible, and her back still ached so badly that the mere thought of lying on that flesh made her tremble.

The heartless bitch had been merciless in her retribution. Sophie had screamed out her agony as she hung from the gibbet like so much game, the Lady whipping her back raw. The guards had fondled her as usual, one of them leaving her with a parting, painful twist of a swollen nipple.

What would be happening to her next? She wondered if now, in the dead of night it was to finally happen. She’d been braced for it, trying to prepare herself for the horror. Indeed, her depraved treatment at the hands of Miriam and her cruel friend Countess Holstenborg had seemingly inured her to further travails. She expected nothing less than the worst.

But she would survive it. She would survive it even if she had to retreat to the tiny shelter deep within her mind. A place to cry the terror and pain away. A place where an imaginary Owen could hold her, somewhere she’d be protected, loved. It was the one part of her that couldn’t be reached. It would be enough.

It had to be.

The bolt of her door was thrown, and she raised her head, reflexively trying to bring her knees up into a fetal position. Her body began to tremble.

Oh Gods, I’m not ready!

No matter how often she’d played out how this might go, she knew she wasn’t really prepared to endure it.

A tall figure dressed in head to toe black emerged through the doorway, a heavy hood completely shrouding the face. The figure closed and locked the door before turning back toward her.

Sophie’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. If only she could get free! She’d fight. Fight until he had to kill her. She would not cooperate in this; to do so would smack of … participation.

“Go away,” she croaked. “Can’t you see I can’t take anymore? Leave me alone.”

The figure pulled the hood back. Unruly sandy hair, smooth brown eyes.

She was confused. This wasn’t one of the guards.

“I’ve come to take you back. Sophie, it’s me.” The voice was a familiar one — from her dreams.

She felt the tears welling in her burning eyes. “Ow-Owen?”

He smiled at her, his eyes filled with concern — and something else. “I’ve missed you, Sophie.”

“How? Is that really you?” The tears came then, sobs threatening to erupt up from the depths. It was him! Here for her. To take her home. To be with her. Love her.

His eyes were bright. “Shh, it’s all right, Sophie. We’re safe for the moment. They think I‘m … inspecting you.”

“Inspecting me?”

He looked away a moment, fingering the dark cloth of his robes. “That’s how we got in. We made ourselves appear as Mendicants.”

“We must get away from here, Owen.” She swallowed, wishing her mouth wasn’t so dry. “She’s evil.”

Kneeling at the side of the bed, his eyes took in her whole body. What she saw in those brown depths sent a spark of unease fluttering through her belly. Or was it more than that?

“We need to wait here until we get the signal. We’ve got a plan for getting you out.”

She felt the tension wash from her body immediately. Saved!

“Get me out of these,” Sophie said, rattling her chains.

For a moment, he said nothing, but his avid gaze didn’t leave her, the flash in his eyes unmistakable.

“Owen, I mean it. I’ve got to get loose.”

His shook his head, dispelling that look from his eyes.”Of course, here.”

He reached into his robe and retrieved a battered metal key. Within moments he had the cuffs free.

Sophie clutched to his body, her arms wrapped around him “Owen, I’ve — thought about you.”

“You have?” The note of surprise in his voice shocked her.

She’d thought of him every day. Did he not know her real feelings? A shiver of dread raced through her at that possibility What if her feelings weren’t reciprocated? Could she have misread the signs? Misinterpreted everything?

“Sophie, I need to ask you something. I should have asked you — before.” He tipped her chin up, his gaze meeting hers. “It’s stupid of me to ask now at a time like this, but I must know.” His throat moved, his gaze dropping a moment. “Is there someone? I mean — was there someone?”

Sophie blew out a breath. “No, not until … ” She looked away, humiliated by the blush she felt burning her cheeks. Until she’d been defiled by that hateful woman. Debased by her lackeys.

But there was a deeper truth she’d discovered — had been forced to discover. It was something she didn’t think she had the courage to confront.

She’d changed.

Whether it was voluntarily or not — and she wasn’t sure what Owen would make of it — she was no longer the girl he used to know. Perhaps he’d be horrified. Would he think her depraved?

Never.

Sophie would never let that evil witch have that too, rob her of her self-regard.

The tension in Owen’s lean young body eased, and he hugged her closer to him. It felt good to be surrounded by those strong arms, just as she’d imagined all those lonely nights locked in her quarters. Now it was happening. It was real.

The breath caught in her chest when she felt it. Felt him. His penis was stiff, the length of him against her thigh as he held her in his arms. He wanted her! She was confused, elated and hesitant all at once. She looked up at him, and it was his turn to blush.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, moving his hips so that his erection no longer brushed against her. She missed it immediately. It was such a revelation to feel the physical manifestation of a man’s desire for her. It made her feel powerful.

“No, you don’t have to.” She lowered her eyes, and she spread her hands on his broad chest. The muscles felt magnificent. All those surreptitious admiring glances had led to this and she knew mere glances would never suffice again.

She felt like a wanton whore, her desire rising in such a way. As long as she was in Owen’s arms, she wouldn’t care though. After what she’d been through, she needed this, needed him.

He pulled her close, his embrace squeezing the breath from her. Ah, such strength! She loved it!

“Sophie,” he breathed into her ear. “I thought of you, constantly. Wondered what you were doing, what you were thinking. Wondering if you thought of me.”

She smiled up at him. “Owen. Every day. Every morning, every night. I’ve missed you so.”

He inhaled a deep shuddering breath, and she felt his lips on her ear. He kissed her hair, his big hands cradling her face. His breath was warm on her skin. She felt pleasure uncoiling low in her belly, and the moist heat of her sex increased. She wanted to feel that hardness again, feel the reaction he couldn’t hide. His lust for her.

Reaching down, her hands burrowed into the rough cloth of his robes. She pulled the robe open, her darting hands more insistent by the second. He pulled her onto his lap, and she opened her legs to straddle him. His embrace felt so right, so safe, the strength in his arms making her dizzy. She hugged herself to him, luxuriating in the feel of her soft breasts against the hard planes of his chest.

Then he kissed her, and she sighed into his mouth. His lips, his tongue explored her, soft, yet demanding all at once. She opened her mouth to him, and his tongue dove deeper, twining with hers. He caught her lip between his teeth, and she smiled again. He let her go with a laugh, pressing quick, soft kisses to her mouth, her cheeks.

Her fingers found him, and she felt that big, male body shudder, the tense, corded muscles of his thighs like steel. His penis bucked as she clasped it fully in her hand. She was surprised at the softness of his skin, the heat that radiated from it. She longed to feel that heat within her own, joining with her.

“Sophie — we don’t have much time.”

She shook her head, her forehead dropping to his chest, wishing she could shed the infernal robes altogether. She longed to look upon his naked body. “I’ve waited too long, Owen. We could be killed tomorrow, or tonight. Let me have this. I want this. Please.”

She felt his hands close on her arms, squeezing.

“Sophie. What are you — doing?”

Running her hand up and down his shaft, she enjoyed the feel of silk over steel, enjoyed the feeling of his maleness in her palm. Then he grunted, pushing her to her back and laying upon her.

She struggled to spread her legs, to draw him in close. “My legs. Hurry!”

Her need was overpowering, wanting him inside her, everywhere. She’d never felt this way before, but something within her told her it had to be now. They might never have the chance again. Dread chilled her at the thought.

Owen freed her ankles, his hands shaking as he worked. She wondered if it was fear or arousal that affected him so. He stood up, and shed the robe quickly.

She soaked in the gorgeous body, the angles enhanced by the moonlight that poured through the lone window. From the tree root cords at the base of his neck, to the broad shoulders, and defined abdominals, she wanted to trace every inch of those muscles, feel the power of them beneath her hands. Her eyes moved down, and she brought her hand to her mouth, nibbling on a fingertip. She would not have an easy time accommodating him.

He moved her smock up her body, easing the threadbare fabric over the thrust of her breasts. His breathing quickened as he looked upon her nakedness. His hands took her breasts, tentative at first, then squeezing them firmly, making her moan. He traced the wide brown areolas with shaky fingertips, smiling as her nipples hardened for him. His hand caressed the soft flesh of her belly, the fingers playing with the curls of her sex. He lay upon her once more, his face just inches from hers.

She felt the hard bar of his erection laid upon her thigh, and her sex spasmed. She was sure she could feel a drop of moisture seep from between her labia. She tensed, knowing what was supposed to happen that first time, the pain that would come. Still she wanted this, wanted this to be with him. For him.

“I - it might hurt,” he whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. His eyes gleamed as he gazed down into hers. She was touched that he was worried for her.

If only he knew what she’d already been through.

“Then hurt me, Owen,” she said, her eyes flashing. She was out of control, she knew, but she wanted to be in control of this, in control of something. She drew in a sharp breath, as he entered her, a shallow tentative thrust at first.

“Oh Gods,” he whispered, the muscles of his arms bulging as he held himself over her. She adjusted her hips, her heels pulling him closer, and he pushed further.

“Owen,” she moaned. “More. Slowly.” She was afraid of the pain. She knew her fear was absurd, really, considering what she’d already been subjected to. But this was a different kind of pain, even more intimate.

Her first intimacy — with her Owen.

“Sophie,” he said, his breathing heavier. “Are you ready?”

She closed her eyes, her heart soaring, fear warring with joy at his words. “Owen, please. Love me. Only me.”

He thrust against her, the flesh resisting a moment, then giving way. She cried out, arching her body under him, her nails digging into the flesh of those muscular arms. The pain was sharp, but not nearly as severe as she’d feared.

He pushed further, deeper, until she felt his pubic hair against her mound. His body trembled over hers, his breathing coming hard and fast.

“Owen, please.” She rotated her hips, the hard shaft of his cock moving deeper. She knew she would be sore tomorrow, but she wanted him to move, to take her, to show her what was possible between a man and a woman.

The pace of his thrusts increased. When she looked up at him, he took her mouth with his, the lips and tongue and teeth growing bolder, more demanding. She loved the feel of his passion, the barely leashed power of his body. His thrusts hurt, and she gasped with the effort to accommodate his size. She was crazy to be doing this here, now, but she’d examine just what the Hell was wrong with her later. Now, there was only this.

Two bodies, one.

She’d wanted this more than she’d realized, her sex clamping him harder, despite the pain — or because of it.

“Sophie!” He grunted, his jaw clenched. “Sophie! I — Oh Gods!”

She panted along with him, her eyes half-lidded, loving the contrasting sensations of the sting and the luscious slide of his hard maleness deep inside. His hips bucked against hers as he stroked within her, her breath catching as the broad head bottomed out against the mouth of her womb.

“What about — inside,” he ground out, his thrusting relentless.

Did she want this to lead to that? The logical result of their lust, their love? She cleaved even closer to him, her body a taut bowstring. The pain, the pleasure; the confusion and joy, was one whirling maelstrom within her.

“Owen, no. Wait.” Her voice quavered with the rhythmic impact of his hips.

He sunk to the hilt once more, his whole body shaking. The feel of him so, so deep made her moan.

“Okay.” Exquisite anguish strained his voice. “Not … yet.”

He withdrew from her, and she watched, fascinated and strangely bereft, as his fingers, wet with her virgin’s blood, fisted the long, thick penis once, twice. His deep groan rattled in her chest as he spurted his seed upon her, the limpid streams mingling with the matted hair of her pubis.

She had an insane urge to lick it off of him, to clean his fingers of his semen. She wanted to know what it tasted like; she wondered why she seemed to have turned into an insatiable slut.

Sophie tried to roll over, but his hand stayed her, firm on her hip. “No.”

The glint in his eye, the firm set of his jaw, made the heat rise within her sex all over again. His gaze moved down her body, his big sun-browned hand following. She moaned, the flesh still sensitive as his fingers parted her wet folds, the long digits exploring within her sex, the sting of her sore flesh making her gasp. He felt all around inside, his touch gentle, exploring. He moved down her body, his sweaty musculature delicious against her soft, yielding thighs. She felt his breath on her sex, and she tensed.

“Owen — no. I’m bleeding.” She could feel the flush rise on her chest and neck

How could he want to?

He placed a hand over her lips, his other hand continuing its leisurely tour between the soft petals of her labia. His thumb explored the curls at the apex of her slit, the flesh pushed back to expose the focus of her desire. He looked up at her, grinning, his eyes bright in the moonlit room. “It’s so red, so swollen, Sophie.”

She turned her head away, closing her eyes tightly. She was mortified, but it was true. All she wanted was for him to touch it, to take her away in a flood of pleasure. It was a way to be somewhere else, if only for a moment, a place of pure bliss far removed from the dark, close confines of her miserable cell.

“Ah, ah!” she blurted out as his thumb moved over the hard button of flesh. “Yes, Owen! More!”

He laughed, a rumble of pure pleasure in his chest. She writhed beneath him, spreading her thighs wider. Her hands dove into the silky weight of his hair, and she held onto him as he dipped his head. His palm was over her mouth again, tight this time, and she struggled to free herself.

Then her eyes flew open, as his tongue darted over her congested clit. The sensation had her boiling within moments, and when he closed his soft lips over her inflamed flesh, she screamed into the firm clutch of his palm. Her climax spiraled higher and higher, his tongue playing over her clit again and again as he sucked her deeper into his mouth. Her fists clenched in his hair, pulling his face hard against her gushing sex. His fingers kept moving within her, the hint of an incisor against her clit, and she uttered a soul-deep moan.

He moved his mouth away, kissing her plump outer labia, his tongue flicking at the tender flesh of her inner lips. She felt his lips moved upon her “I’ve wanted this for so long, Sophie. So long.”

She sighed, a smile curving her lips. She felt wrung out, her thighs shaking. She stroked his hair, wanting the moment to stretch on for eternity. She could feel him playing with her, twirling her pubic hair that was drenched with his seed. He looked up at her, and lay his cheek upon the delicate flesh of her inner thigh. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and she flushed all over again, realizing for the first time how strongly the small, cloistered chamber smelled of her arousal.

“Owen,” she placed a hand on his cheek, and he grinned again, his eyes still closed. Her heart melted at the look of pure contentment on his face. She wanted an eternity of days where she could bring a man such pleasure. But that wasn’t quite right, was it? There was only one man that she wanted, and that man was Owen.

He crawled slowly up her body, and she bit her lip, watching the rippling of his powerful shoulders, the broad muscles of his back, the hard pectorals. She let out a long pleased sigh as he curled his body around her. For the first time in months, she felt safe. He’d protect her, get her home. After that, who knew? She hoped, but that was all she’d allow herself until she was away from the evil that was House Westwood.

Pulling her body closer to him, he tucked her head under his chin, his long fingers twirling her locks above her ear. The beat of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing soothed her, brought her back to earth. She laid a hand on his hard chest, her fingertips making tiny circles against his skin.

“Rest now, Sophie.” He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “We leave soon.”

Then she closed her eyes, letting relaxation drag her down into the sweet refuge of sleep.

* * *

 

“You don’t have to stay, Arnaud. I told you, he won’t hurt me.”

Arnaud sat back in the deep red cushions of an ornate chair, his fingers toying with the gold filigree stitched into the arm. “Humor me, Mistress. I only want to ensure your safety.”

She frowned at him, but inclined her head. “You worry too much, Arnaud.”

“It is my duty, Mistress.” His dark eyes were sharp, not leaving the woman and the man still laying in her arms. He had helped her move Clayton from the floor to lay on the bed, once more in her embrace, her back propped against the blood red velvet of the headboard. Clayton’s shirt was mostly undone, the smooth planes of a still strong chest laid bare.

The Lady’s fingers twirled and tugged at his chest hair. Occasionally, she would gently tweak one of the man’s nipples between delicate finger and thumb. Arnaud had discreetly looked away as the Lady had moved aside the top buttons of her robe, allowing Clayton’s head to lie directly upon the olive curves of her generous breasts. The bodice of her chemise had been loosened such that the white lace only just hid her nipples from Arnaud’s gaze.

“He will want her, Mistress. He won’t leave without her.”

She winked at her overseer. “If I have my way, neither one of them will be leaving here anytime soon.”

An unholy screeching noise of metal upon metal sounded from outside, followed by a tremendous boom that seemed to shake the ground beneath their feet. Arnaud stood, his hand on his sword, his eyes darting from the door to the window that looked down upon the courtyard below.

Lady Westwood’s cool eyes narrowed. “What was that awful —”

“The portcullis, Mistress.” Arnaud strode for the door. He paused looking back at her. “Stay here. Someone has dropped the gate.”

The Mistress nodded, slipping out from under Clayton’s unconscious form. She rushed to her wardrobe, retrieving her short sword.

Walking to the window, she looked down upon the courtyard outside. “Gods,” she whispered, backing slowly away, drawing her sword from the intricately decorated scabbard.

There was a heavy thud against her door, and she whirled around, both hands on the grip of her weapon. The lethal point of the tip shook before her.

The door partially opened, and she glided toward it, silent, her blade raised for a killing blow. Then she lowered the sword, her expression puzzled.

Arnaud slipped through the door, leaning a heavy shoulder against the wood. He threw the bolt and locked it with shaking fingers. He turned his gaze to the Lady. His face looked ashen, his eyes wide, their movement nervous.

“Mistress, step back I beg you.” He turned back toward the door, bringing his own broadsword up before him. He slowly backed away from the door.

“How did so many get in Arnaud?” she hissed, her own sword still up, standing somewhat behind the overseer. “Who are they?”

“It’s the Nocturne, Mistress.”

“Oh dear Gods. Vampires.”

The door shuddered, shaking in the heavy frame. A deep rattling growl could be heard on the other side. A strangled, pain-filled scream spiraled upward out in the courtyard, the blood-curdling tone finally cut off mid note.

“How many,” she whispered, her tongue licking dry lips. “Did you see how many made the keep?”

“The light was low, Mistress, but there were several. At - at least five.”

She cursed under her breath.

“By the door, Arnaud,” the Lady said, shoving his shoulder. “They’ll let their guard down if they see only me.”

He nodded, skirting around the room, until his shoulder pressed against the wall, just to the side of the doorway. Another harder thud on the door, and both Arnaud and the Lady jerked.

Horses began whinnying and then screaming outside in the stables. The tearing, dry sound of wood being shattered could be clearly heard. There was the irregular clop of hooves, then a man yelling at someone to get out of the way, his voice cracking with strain.

The door shuddered, then part of it gave way, splinters and dust flying into the room. A large hand reached through the hole in the wood, the long fingers tipped with sharp gray nails. The remainder of the door groaned and blew inward, pieces of wood striking the Lady. She cried out, raising her sword and moving forward. Two of the black-clad nocturne, both easily a head taller than Arnaud’s six feet, strode into the room, their movement startlingly quick.

Arnaud’s sword slashed up into the torso of the second vampire. There was a great wet-sounding cry and the figure pitched forward clutching at the bloody gash left by the sword’s blade. The first vampire turned in a swift fluid movement, grasping Arnaud around the throat and pinning him against the wall. The overseer emitted a high pitched gurgle, scratching at the arm that held him. Arnaud’s tongue lolled out of his mouth, his eyes wide with terror.

Lady Westwood struck then, running the sword completely up under the vampire’s arm, the blade plunging deep into the upper chest. She staggered back as the vampire, yelling in pain, lashed at her with his free hand, the sword left to vibrate in his body.

The vampire grasped the grip of the sword and ran it back out, pained grunting accompanying the passage of the lethal blade. Arnaud gasped repeatedly, still struggling against the implacable hand around his throat.

The vampire that Arnaud had cut down stood haltingly up, and turned his gaze to the Lady. It was then that she could see the brilliant flaming silver of the eyes. She screamed then, stumbling backwards. “No! No!”

The vampire flashed forward, gripping her by the hair and cranking her head back. “You’re coming with us, Lady Westwood.” He looked back at his companion, who still held the overseer pinned against the wall.

The vampire holding Arnaud moved close to the man, until their faces were inches apart. “Where we’re going you cannot follow, human.”

The vampire’s mouth filled with long gray fangs. Arnaud struggles intensified, the man uttering a high-pitched squealing. Then the vampire chewed into Arnaud’s throat, tearing the larynx out, then biting deeper, the dying man’s bright blood pouring out onto the vampire’s wrist and forearm.

The Lady screamed, clawing at the arm holding her hair fast. The vampire holding her drew close, his fiery gaze locked with hers. “Before we go, there is something else I want from you, my Lady.”

“Kill me! Please! Make it quick, I beg you.” Her hands clamped on to the vampire’s wrist, pulling at it.

“Oh, what would be the fun in that, Lady Westwood? We have much more planned for you, we do.”

The vampire holding Arnaud threw his lifeless body to the floor as it were a child’s doll. He nodded at Miriam. “We need to move quickly, Marshall.”

She screamed again when she saw the fangs of the vampire holding her lengthen, his eyes burning yet brighter. The vampire wrenched her head back exposing the vulnerable throat. She gasped as the fangs sank into the delicate flesh of her neck. Her arms weakened then dropped away, limp. His hand traveled down her torso as he drank from her, squeezing a plump breast through the thin lace of her chemise. Her whole body soon grew still, consciousness leaving her.

* * *

 

Sophie lay with her chin on Owen’s chest, luxuriating in the sound of his breathing. She could see his eyes moving under the lids. Was he dreaming? Dreaming of her?

She kissed his firm flesh, rubbing her cheek against the thin layer of light hair there. She suspected he’d have a hairy chest — her favorite kind — when he was older, but now in his comparative youth, he only had the hint of it. She wondered if she might be getting too far ahead of herself, but she tried to picture what he’d look like when he was older, perhaps even his father Isaac’s age? A beautiful lad would no doubt grow to be a beautiful man as well.

She heard a sharp cry.

Owen’s head snapped up, his eyes blinking rapidly. Then he was off the bed in a heartbeat, pulling his robes back on.

“What is it?” She struggled at her shift, trying to get it to move down her sweat-soaked flesh.

“Something’s happening. We need to go.”

She scrambled off her bed.

There was a piercing sound of groaning metal, then the whole building seemed to shake, dust falling from the ceiling. Owen cursed.

“Is this part of the plan, Owen?”

“It’ll be alright, Sophie.” The haunted look in his eyes told her the truth of it though. She swallowed hard, willing herself not to panic.

He donned his hood again, his face cast once more into shadow. A scream sounded outside, close, and she put her hands to her ears.

Owen grabbed her by the wrist, threw the bolt and yanked open the door. The hallway was deserted, but she could hear sobs from a couple of the rooms nearby.

“Owen, we should at least unlock them.”

He shook his head. “There’s no time.”

They dashed through the dark hallway and out into the torch lit courtyard. She froze in terror at the sight she beheld there.

There were guards lying everywhere, most of them horribly injured or already dead. She saw movement above and looked up. Yelling in horror, a man plummeted down from the battlements, his body striking the dirt with a sickening crunch. Two guards nearby, both armed with swords, fought desperately, metal clashing with metal, with two very tall men clad in long dark coats swinging huge shimmering blades. She’d never seen anyone like them before, and she took a step toward the group, her feet seemingly moving on their own.

“Come on,” Owen said, his voice harsh in her ear. She felt her arm yanked hard, and she stumbled after him. They ran across the courtyard toward a wagon covered with a all, dark shroud, the horses harnessed to it neighing and bucking against their bonds. Another tall man in black robes strode toward them, and for a moment, Sophie balked, pulling at Owen’s grip.

“It’s okay. It’s Hugh.” Owen hauled on her arm, keeping her moving. “He’s with my father’s guild. He’s helping us.”

The man dropped his hood, and smiled at Sophie, the deep friendly lines around his blue eyes softening his gruff, bearded countenance. “Glad to see you, lass.”

Owen looked around. “Where’s my father?”

Hugh’s expression sobered. “He and Galan went looking for you.”

Owen shook his head, anger in his eyes. “What is he doing? That wasn’t what we talked about.”

“Neither was all this,” Hugh said, waving a hand. He pointed behind him. “We have a bigger problem now, lad.”

The portcullis was down. They were trapped.

“We need to get that gate back up, or we’re done for,” Hugh said, helping Owen lift Sophie up into the wagon. The night brightened suddenly, and all three of them ducked. A great explosion blasted into the sky from the direction of the stables, followed by a billowing ball of flame and smoke rising into the air.

“Dear Lord,” Hugh muttered. “We’ve got to get her out of here.”

Owen clapped Hugh on the shoulder. “Stay here with Sophie. I’ll try to find the windlass and get that gate up.”

“Here, take this.” Hugh pressed a sword into Owen’s hands. The farmhand leaned over the edge of the wagon and pressed an urgent kiss to Sophie’s lips. “Keep your head down. Hugh will protect you.”

“Wait! Owen!” she called out, but he was already gone, darting into the darkness, the clang of weapons and screams of the dead and dying all around. She ducked her head as something flew by close overhead, the air currents rippling the dark fabric that covered the wagon.

“Get down lassie, he’ll be back,” Hugh said, his hand pushing down on her shoulder. She dropped down to the floor of the wagon, trying to ignore the sounds of horror all around her. She felt the wagon shift, and Hugh’s face peeked in at her from the driver’s seat. He flashed a quick reassuring smile, then was gone again.

The wagon began to roll, slowly at first, then lurching up to speed. Another series of booms echoed through the courtyard, interspersed with harsh male voices cursing and shouting. Sophie heard a woman’s scream and she peeked out of the shroud.

Stumbling across the yard, her ankles linked in a short hobble chain, was the woman Sophie had seen in the field pulling the plow. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back, the leather girth squeezing her waist in its brutal embrace. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

“Here! Tani! Get in!” Sophie leaned out, waving her arms out of the side of the shroud. Tani turned her head toward Sophie’s voice, the woman’s expression turning confused when she recognized her.

Then Sophie saw him. It was the plowboy, Escott.

He was shuffling after Tani. His right arm hung limp, the whole right side of his body covered in soot and blood. He had been burned, badly.

Sophie nearly called to him too, but it was too late. Someone rushed up on the boy from behind, tackling him to the ground. In the low light it was difficult to see who it was, but it definitely was not a guard, the attacker much too tall, the clothing dark, perhaps black.

The man who’d tackled the plowboy pinned him facedown to the ground, and Sophie could see too-long fingers, complete with sharp nails, wrap around the struggling boy’s head, pulling him up in a straining arch, Escott’s eyes rolling back, showing the whites.

She cried out, covering her mouth as she saw the bright blade flash down, slashing into Escott. The boy uttered a lost, agonized groan, then lay still. His attacker leaned down close to the dead boy’s head, as if he were whispering to him.

Sophie turned back to Tani. A man in black hooded robes dashed out of the darkness toward the fleeing woman, and Sophie cried out. “Tani, hurry!”

The bound woman reached the side of the moving wagon. With Tani’s hands bound, Sophie struggled to pull her in. Finally, she got the upper half of Tani’s body up over the side, her legs dangling off the ground. The robed man reached them before Sophie could pull her all the way in, the man grabbing Tani’s kicking legs. The woman shrieked, craning her face up at Sophie. “Oh Gods, don’t let them—”

“Quiet, girl, I’m trying to help you,” the robed man said, hoisting Tani’s legs up easily and dumping her fully into the wagon.

“What —” Sophie said, then stopped, seeing him strip off the robes, revealing a uniform she’d seen before. The bright epaulets of military rank.

“Isaac? Is that you?”

He looked up at her, as the wagon pulled away. “Sophie, where is Owen? Is he in there with you?”

“He went to raise the gate. Isaac, get in!”

She watched Isaac pull his broad-blade. The weapon was the same style as the one her father had kept hung over the mantle at the farm. She felt a wave of homesickness pass through her. How she wanted to be home again. Safe.

Isaac dashed away, angling toward the base of the stone battlements.

“Isaac, what are you doing!”

He never answered, disappearing into the inky maw of the gatehouse doorway.

“Stay inside the shroud, Sophie!” Hugh called back at her. “They’ll be back!”

Sophie closed the fabric, plunging the wagon into blackness again. She could feel the trembling form of Tani huddling against her.

“Tani, what’s happening?”

Tani looked up at Sophie, the woman’s eyes two large pools of fright. “They just burst in. Out of nowhere.”

“Who did? Who are they?” Sophie placed a hand on the sweat-slicked shoulder of the bound woman.

There was another male shriek from outside, quite close, and Tani flinched. “I - I don’t know. They move very fast though. They surprised the guards. They … ”

Sophie could see the tears overflowing again, and gentled her grip on Tani’s shoulder. “They what, Tani? Please.”

“Their eyes. They glow.”

Ice gripped Sophie’s spine, and her stomach sank.

Nocturne.

When they were but young girls, her father had told her and her sisters tales of the nocturne. Killers in the night, feasting on the blood of humans. Bedtime stories, fables. Now, she remembered the lost look in her father’s eyes when they had asked him about them.

“It’s okay, Tani. We’re taking you out of here, just lay still.” She felt the fear coiling around her heart, the dread threatening to suffocate her. Comforting Tani helped Sophie stay the fear that threatened to paralyze her. If it really was the nocturne out there, the downed portcullis was the very least of their problems.

She heard a grinding of metal, so loud it seemed to reverberate through her chest.

The gate.

Sophie looked out and saw the portcullis rising. It stopped halfway up, but it would be more than enough to allow the wagon through. Then she saw twin pinpoints of shimmering silver up on the battlements.

It’s true. Gods help us.

She shivered.

Two figures came barreling out of the dark gatehouse doorway, sprinting for the wagon.

Sophie crawled toward the front. “Hugh, slow down! They’re coming back!”

“It’s about bloody time,” he muttered.

The two men clambered into the back of the wagon, and the horses picked up speed at Hugh’s harsh yell. He looked back at the two men. “Galan?”

Isaac lowered his eyes, jaws clenched, shaking his head.

“Damn it. Damn it,” Hugh said, facing forward again. Isaac lay a hand on his shoulder.

Owen accidentally climbed atop Tani, unaware she lay under the base of the shroud. He reared back at the woman’s surprised grunt.

“Who?” He tipped his head toward Tani.

Sophie opened her mouth to reply.

“She’s coming with us,” Isaac said, scrambling past Sophie to join Hugh up front.

Sophie cleaved herself to Owen. She feared she’d never see him again. Now that he was back in her arms, she wasn’t letting him go. With him with her once more, she allowed herself to hope. They might just make it after all.

“Here, help me get her arms untied,“ Sophie said, easing Tani over onto her side. They freed her arms and Tani flexed the stiffness out of her wrists.

Then Sophie saw the look in Owen’s eyes, and her heart began hammering in her chest.

“They were everywhere. Dozens of them.”

“Is it … them?” Sophie’s voice was a whisper, barely audible over the din just outside.

Owen gave her a slow nod, his face looking drawn and pale.

Fear.

She’d never seen it in his eyes before, and it terrified her to see it now.

Owen pulled her to him, and she gathered herself into a tight ball against his side. She suddenly felt cold, and so very weary. She reached out to Tani, taking her hand, and the poor woman huddled against Sophie’s back.

Before her captivity, the naked breasts of a woman pressed to her back would have scandalized Sophie. Now, it not only didn’t bother her, she could actually appreciate what men saw in them. She wasn’t sure what to make of that self-revelation. It was just one more thing she’d have to examine later — if she managed to live through the night.

Owen eased the shroud aside, and they watched the manor recede behind them. Flickering orange light reflected off the stone of the inner walls of the battlements. Smoke rose from the courtyard, a smudge against the starry sky. Yells, screams, and the noise of battle could still be heard, its volume fading by the second as they pulled further away.

Isaac peeked in from the front. “We’ll meet Clayton soon. You three stay hidden.”

He and Owen exchanged a long look, then Isaac was gone.

Sophie looked up at Owen, his eyes luminous in the darkness. “What’s wrong, Owen?”

He glanced down at her, his mouth twitching. “Too easy.”

“What?”

“They let us go.” He closed the shroud, and stroked her hair. “Don’t worry over it. We’re safe now. You’ll see your father soon, and we’ll be away from here.”

The tension in his body gave lie to his words. She tried not to think about it.

She closed her eyes and lay her head on Owen’s shoulder. How she wanted to look upon her father again. She missed him terribly. Seeing him would mean it really was over. Soon!

“You’ll have to tell me who our companion is,” Owen said, smiling down at Sophie.

She smiled back. “That’s Tani. She —”

A surprised curse silenced her. Owen craned his head toward the front.

“Hugh, to your left!” Isaac bellowed.

There was an awful screaming from the horses, and a pained grunt from someone in the driver’s seat. The wagon lurched once, then shook violently. Tani cried out, burying her face in Sophie’s back. Owen’s arm clutched tight to Sophie.

The wagon seemed to rise up from the front almost as if time had slowed to a crawl. Sophie heard Tani shriek in her ear, and then stars burst in her field of vision as her head struck something hard and unyielding. Her last conscious thought was of the weight of Owen’s arm being yanked violently away. Then blackness took her.