Dark Destiny (17 page)

Great Britain: 1514 AD

Cole’s heart pounded hard and rapidly. His eyes were opened wide, the whites standing out, his lips pulled back in a grimace as he sucked in air in great gulps. The thin leather soles of his boots slapped puddles of water as he raced through the muddy streets of Elton, splattering himself with the brownish liquid. He fled past crumbling limestone and rotted wooden buildings, some with collapsed roofs. This section of the town was quiet except for the falling rain and his wet footfalls. He took in a deep breath and pushed harder as he could see lights ahead through the misty rain. He shot furtive glances behind him as he ran, eyes straining to see movement through the falling water, his face shiny with rain and sweat. He could now see the three dark shapes, much closer than they’d been before.

Cole ran even harder, breath straining as mud splattered his sodden linen shirt. He ran through various options in his mind on how he was going to get himself out of this one. Quickly turning left around a corner of a still functioning building, he accidentally splashed mud on a local blacksmith he shot passed.

“Hey, watch it!” the blacksmith bellowed as he wiped muck from his brow.

Cole slid, almost falling off his feet before finally catching himself. He couldn’t stop. If he did, he was dead. And not the swift, merciful kind of dead.

Since this was most likely the poorer section of town, many of the torches weren’t lit, leaving large areas with pools of darkness. In back of a small butcher shop about half a mile down the road was one of these spots. If he could reach the shadowed building he could go around behind the shop to where a rubbish heap most likely lay. The stench would be horrendous, but if he could hide under it he would be safe.

Gasping with breath, he tried to leap over an overflowing trough, but smashed into it instead flipping completely over it. He landed hard on his back, Pain shooting up his spine.

“Ouch,” Cole muttered.

A wide-eyed, chestnut brown mare stared down at him and snorted. She continued to chew her damp hay.

“What?” Cole asked the horse as he sat up gingerly.

Behind him, heavy footsteps splashed, growing louder with each step. His pursuers made no attempts at being quiet.

Three roughshod men ran past the blacksmith’s shop and spotted him sitting by the trough.

“Get him!” the largest of the three men yelled. His wine barrel belly jiggled fiercely from the hard run. The buttons on his shirt seemed to fight a never-ending battle to keep from popping off. Strapped to the outside of his brown leather boot was a large knife. Cole heard the others call him Gavin.

Cole struggled to his feet and stumbled into a painful run. The three men still followed, now no less than twenty feet behind him.

Anxiety filled his belly, leaden with panic as he struggled for breath. Pain shot through his back. He stumbled again, looking up to see he had mistakenly run into a more populated area of town. Cocking his head, he managed a small smile. This might actually work out to his advantage. At least he hoped so.

In the town center, a dark-haired gypsy woman danced and sang on a wooden platform to the melody of a young male viola player while a dense crowd of bystanders looked on. Some of the townsfolk clapped along politely.

Others, mostly men, drank and shouted lewd comments. A few threw coins to the performers. A small group of gypsy men held torches to give light to the area. The woman, her dark brown eyes flashing with excitement, spun around, her unbound hair flaring like a dark halo. With a flick of her wrist toward the audience, her colorful dress twirled just enough to show her shapely legs.

Many of the men stared with open lust, the older townswomen
tut-tutting
in disdain, while the younger women gawked in admiration and jealousy.

Every eye was on her as she sauntered her hips, her back arched just enough to display her ample bosom, and her movements timed to the highs and lows of the viola player’s tune. Cole slowed down as he approached the crowd, ducking down as he slipped through the press of warm, sweaty bodies to use as a cover. Once he felt he was clear of the thugs’ line of site, he stood tall, shook off his brown cloak and placed it on the shoulders of an old man who reeked of ale. The old man’s rheumy eyes were focused on the fluid movements of the beautiful gypsy dancer.

“For you!” Cole exclaimed.

“Yay!” the intoxicated man slurred. The drunk bobbed his head a couple of times as he swayed in place. His eyes never wavered from the gypsy’s body. Cole hurried away, ducking back into the crowd.

At the edge of the masses, a local clothing merchant stood by his stall engaged in trying to convince a potential customer to buy a large heavy cloak.

With deft fingers, Cole snatched a periwinkle blue shirt off the merchant’s cart and made off with it undetected. He ripped off his green shirt, tossed it onto the ground and quickly donned the new shirt without stopping.

Cole felt bad about stealing. It was not his style. Once he got himself out of this situation, he would return and pay for it. That was a promise.

He looked back into the crowd and spotted the giant, Gavin, who stood one and a half feet taller than the people around him. The brute had grabbed the drunk wearing Cole’s cloak and was shaking him. Realizing it wasn’t Cole, Gavin spit on the ground as he pushed the poor man off his feet and into a mud puddle.

Cole had bought himself a few minutes. Barely. If he could just make his way through to the other side of the crowd he would be home free.

He bobbed and weaved through the masses of people, trying to keep his bearings. A large, sweaty, wine soaked drunk laughed as he snagged Cole in a far too affectionate embrace.

He looked up into huge hairy nostrils and was assaulted by the smell of wet dog. Cole didn’t struggle as that might cause undue attention. Staying alive at this point was more important than a sweaty dog-loving man hugging him.

Off in the distance were loud, excited cheers. The big sweaty man spun him around a couple of times and finally released him.

Cole rushed away, determined not to be caught up again, but he’d lost track of the direction he was traveling. Still, he pushed on. He thought he was almost at the edge of the crowd and squeezed himself past a final group of villagers into a clearing.

His eyes shot open wider. “Oh, bloody brilliant, Cole!”

The reflection of the large bonfire shone its bright, bouncing glare on his face. He was completely exposed in the very center of the street. Not good. The panic bubbled inside him.
No time to get sloppy. If they see me, I’m dead!

He brought his arms up to cover his face but bumped hard into a young man’s arm. The young man had been carrying a wooden mug filled with a thick drink of some sort, likely stout, and it spilled all over the young man’s shirt. Cole didn’t have time to deal with another potential enemy. He took off.

Sebastian wheeled around, looking first on the ground at the remains of his drink, the mug top-down in a puddle, and then at his expensive, red woolen shirt.
Idiot!

This was one of his favorite shirts! Elizabeth of York had offered it to him while begging for her life. When Sebastian had told her no, she gave him the finger. He’d kept both.

Now the finger bones rattled in a leather pouch around his neck as a trophy. He frowned. This was going to smell, and stain.

To make matters worse, the human didn’t even apologize. Rudeness was a human quality Sebastian simply could not tolerate.

A moment later, a rather large human rushed past him, along with two smaller ones; probably minions. They seemed to follow the idiot who’d jostled him and spilled his drink.

Sebastian’s eyes trailed after them.

Before flipping over the horse trough, Cole had been running at top speed for almost a quarter of an hour. He was exhausted, winded, close to panic. And now with pain spiking in his shins and a deep ache in his back, he knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer.

“OVER THERE!” Gavin yelled out with his surprisingly squeaky voice.

Cole turned into an alley. Right into a dead end.

Cursing, he stopped in front of the cracked stone wall and hung his head.

Behind him, the men approached.

“Finally got you,” the balding, skinnier of the three cronies croaked.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to
—
” Cole started.

“Forget to invite me to the celebration?” a voice said from behind them all.

Cole turned around to find who had spoken. It was a boy who couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old. He wore a blood red wool shirt that had a large wet splotch down the front. The tang of stout permeated the air as he approached.
Was that the boy I bumped into?
What was he doing here? He’s going to get himself killed!

“You, maggots! Out of here,
now
. I have business with this one,” the young man demanded, pointing directly at Cole.

Gavin didn’t understand what was happening. Boss had ordered him to take his men and teach this guy a lesson. They’d caught him and were ready to do just that.
Who was
this
? A random kid showing up, giving
him
an order? And in front of his men too?

His temper flared.

“Beat it, boy, before I beat you,” Gavin spat.

The young man, black hair slick from the rain, dark eyes glinting, glared at the much taller man. Gavin blinked and the boy stood in front of him, mere inches from his protruding belly.

The boy spoke slowly, his voice clear yet barely above a whisper. “The only thing keeping me from breaking you in half is that I don’t want another stain on my shirt.”

Baldie snorted.

Who the hell does this kid think he is?!

When Gavin walked into a room, he commanded respect. Everyone in town knew who he was. He had been known to kill people with his bare hands if they looked at him crosswise. Gavin
gave
the orders; he didn’t take them! He was about to tell the kid to eat manure and pound him into the mud when he noticed the boy’s shadow. Though Gavin was big, probably the biggest man in Elton, the boy’s shadow was impossibly long and appeared to be wrapped in a large cloth.

There was no wind, yet the robes in the shadow seemed to flow like waves grabbing at the shore. Even more unsettling, in the shadow’s hand was a scythe like the one Gavin had used on his uncle’s farm as a boy.

“Come on, Gavin. Break this kid’s legs!” he heard one of his men growl.

“Kick his teeth in!” Baldie said.

Gavin glanced over his shoulder at his men, knowing they were both growing impatient. Losing control of this situation wasn’t an option, especially not because of some child who just showed up to help the moron they were chasing. He blinked his eyes a couple of times to clear his mind.
Just tired from the run, that’s all. You got this.

Gavin started to speak. “What did you just
—
”

With one hand, Sebastian grabbed Gavin’s large belt and tossed him over his shoulder through the air into a wooden wall. The wall smashed in leaving Gavin partially hanging out of it. His moans of pain brought a pleasure to Sebastian’s heart like no other sound could. He smiled in delight.

But Sebastian knew he couldn’t kill him. It wasn’t Gavin’s time. A few broken ribs and a dislocated hip though? That would serve him right.

The two minions stood with eyes wide and their jaws gaping open. These weren’t men. No, they were cowards, hiding behind their whimpering leader. Sebastian gave them a lopsided smile. These humans needed to know how close they were to Death.

The shadows in the alley darkened, somehow swallowing the light. The temperature dropped, and both men shivered. Dark whispers flowed out from the darkness around them, unintelligible words crawling into their ears. Though Sebastian didn’t move, his shadow crept forward, sliding toward the two men at a supernatural rate.

The two men stumbled back a few steps, exchanged a quick glance, and then took off running. Baldie’s pants darkened around his crotch as he ran.

Sebastian chuckled. “Foolish humans.”

He walked forward into the alley and examined Cole.

Cole wasn’t sure what he’d just witnessed, but he knew he was lucky to be alive.

“I—I thought . . . Thanks,” Cole said, cautiously extending his hand.

An expression of disgust crossed the young man’s face as he glared at Cole’s hand. He arched an eyebrow, as though the thought of shaking Cole’s hand was the most absurd idea ever conceived.

Cole opened and closed his hand a couple of times before he brought it back down to his side. Unable to maintain eye contact, Cole shifted his gaze down and to the sides, anywhere to avoid setting his sight on the boy in front of him.

The young man crept closer, and Cole gulped. The expression that greeted him sent ripples of fear into his heart. The young man’s eyes were fierce and seemed to glint with a cold light in the darkness of the alley. And his smile was full of dark intent, the smile of a wolf before devouring its prey.

“Oh,” the boy said, his toothy grin seeming to grow wider, “you don’t have to worry about
them
killing you.”

He leaned his face in closer, the intensity in his eyes, the casualness of his tone sending ripples of fear up and down Cole’s spine.

“That’s
my
job.”