DeliveredIntoHisHands (21 page)

“Guess so,” he replied, not looking at her.

“I could make your life a living hell.”

He laughed and turned his head to look at
her. “Like you haven’t already?” he inquired. “What more do you think you can
do to me, wench?”

“That was then,” she echoed. “This is now.”

Tossing his pen to the desk, he leaned back
in his chair to assess her. “So tell me what you’re going to do to me.”

“Oh no,” she said. “It doesn’t work that
way, vampire. What I’m going to do you won’t see coming.” She smirked at him.
“You’ve given me powers I’m going to use to make you wish you’d never met me.”

“Aye, well, that won’t ever happen, wench,”
he said. “Had I never met you, I’d not be sitting here now.”

“Sometimes I bitterly regret having taken
Ashlyn out for a ride that night.”

“I’m sure you do,” he said softly, his
words all but drowned out as the engine of the transport roared and the tent
shook as the big ship took off.

She lowered her head. “I was with the
raiding party that freed the prisoners from Maechin. My hatred for you grew
even stronger when I learned what you’d done to my family.”

“They’re safe and that is all that should
have mattered to you.”

She looked up. “What?”

“They are where they will remain,” he said.
“In one of the many mansions I own.”

“They aren’t dead?” she asked, her face
suddenly pale.

“Of course not. They are my family too,
whether you—or they—like it. Though they are under constant guard, they are
free to come and go as they please. The last I heard, they liked their new home
well enough. That was where I would have sent you had you been on that
transport.”

“You should have told me days ago!” she
snapped.

“Wench, I should have done a lot of
things,” he said with a sigh then closed his eyes, leaned his head back and put
the heels of his palms to his forehead where blazing pain was throbbing. Nausea
was pushing at the back of his throat.

“I hope your head explodes,” she groused.

“Get up and let me lie down,” he said.

“No.”

“Get up or I swear to the goddess I’ll puke
in your lap.”

Antonia cursed him but she flounced from
the bunk and moved across the way, watched as he went to the bunk and lay down
gingerly. The chamber pot was right beside the bed and from where she stood the
stench of their combined piss was bad enough. It had to be overwhelming from
his point of view. If he had to throw up, the smell as he leaned over to
relieve himself in the pot would be an additional agony.

She sighed. As much as she hated him, she
knew the pain he suffered from the headaches and she couldn’t heap any more
onto him. She went over, took up the pot and carried it to the entrance.

“Here,” she told the guard. “Empty this and
give it right back. He’s got a migraine.”

“Aye, milady!” the guard snapped. He took
the pot and hurried away.

Leaving her unguarded. She looked about
her. No one was glancing that way. The camp was going about its nightly
business and the darkness beyond the nearest tent beckoned.

“Don’t do it.”

She looked around to find him staring at
her.

“I mean it, wench. Take one step out of
this tent and I promise you, you will regret it.”

“You’re in no condition to threaten me,
vampire,” she said and before he could swing his legs from the bunk, she shot
through the flap—moving faster than she ever had before.

Faster than she knew she could.

Well, she thought as she flashed into the
darkness, the Changing was good for something!

Alyxdair Clay had never known fury such as
that which he had experienced upon learning his woman had been captured and
that the members of the party protecting her had been executed. She was once
more in the hands of the man Alyx had vowed to kill if it was the last thing he
ever did.

“I have learned he will be taking her to
his keep,” the spy told him. “He sent men ahead to prepare for them.”

“He will be with her?”

“Aye, Sir, he will,” the spy replied.

“I want that bastard staked in the Sun so
she can watch him fry to a fucking crisp!” Alyx shouted.

“Sir, there is something you should know,”
the spy said, twisting his hands.

“It had best not be bad news!” Alyx warned.
“I’ve had enough!” When the man didn’t continue, he snaked out a hand and
grabbed the man’s shirt front. He shook him like a terrier does a rat. “Out
with it! Just tell me and be done!”

“The vampire put her through the Changing,
Sir,” the spy whimpered. “He gave her his Mark.”

Alyx released the man and stumbled back,
his eyes wide with horror. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Oh goddess,
no.”

“It was a punishment,” the spy lied. “For
wanting you. For choosing you over him.”

“Bastard,” Alyx said. He dropped to the
ground and buried his face in his hands. “This can’t be happening.”

“You will make him pay, General,” the spy
said. “As sure as there will be a Sunrise in the morn, you will avenge your
lady.”

“Goddess-be-damned right I will,” Alyx
said, his teeth clenched.

“What are your orders, Sir?”

Alyx drew his knees up and rested his
wrists atop them. He stared across the river to the glowing firelight of the
vampire’s encampment. “He believes his message to the king was delivered,” he
said. “His terms reviewed.” His lips twisted. “As if the king would hand me
over to that piece of shit Modarthan.”

“Luckily for us the vampire’s messenger met
with an accident on the way to the capitol,” the spy said with a grin. “So the
king knows nothing of the so-called terms.”

“Nor will he ever,” Alyx said. “When
Warwyck is dead, the war will end and the barbarians will return to Modartha. I
will be given the position of chancellor as the king promised and I will take
my place at his side.”

“What a glorious day that will be!” the spy
stated.

“To that end, I need to have Warwyck in my
hands. This is what needs doing…”

* * * * *

Antonia twisted her arms, jerked her legs,
but the iron shackles held. Her throat was raw from screaming but since that
was no longer possible thanks to the gag covering her mouth, she could let it
heal. Tossing her head to the side, she glared at her husband but he was sound
asleep, the drug having taken him down into whatever peaceful abode he visited
when it was administered. She bucked against the restraints it had taken both
Garrick and Marc to snap into place and the bunk beneath her bounced. She
growled and whipped her head the other way to shoot daggers of fury at Marc.

“You might as well calm down, milady,” he
told her. “Until he wakes, you aren’t going anywhere.”

Furious that Garrick had come after her
when she’d fled and overtaken her with ease, she had fought him tooth and nail,
fang and claw but he’d slung her over his shoulder and carried her back to his
tent—screeching like a wounded owl. Flinging her to the mattress, bellowing for
Marc to bring shackles, he’d sat on her ass to keep her down until the irons
were brought. Easily flipping her over, he and his bastard friend had secured
her to the bunk—wrist and ankle—and another bunk brought in for Garrick. She
did have the satisfaction of knowing she’d caused the Crimson Lord a helluva
lot of pain for having caught her. His retching, moaning, groaning and
trembling body had been evidence of that. She’d screamed at him, cursed him
until Marc had snapped a gag across her mouth.

“If it was your intent to cause him agony,
you succeeded,” Marc told her. “I doubt one injection will be enough to rid him
of this round of headaches.”

She flashed her eyes in triumph but—truth
be told—she felt bad for causing him such excruciating pain although not bad
enough to worry about it.

“I hate you!” she thought at him.

“Aye, milady, I know you do,” Marc said
aloud. “Ask me if I give a fuck.”

Antonia blinked. He had heard her thought?

“You are now One with the Blood,” he said,
getting up to look out the tent flap. “From here on, it’s best you be careful
what thoughts you project,” Marc told her. “Only those who have shared Blood
with Garrick can hear you but thankfully there are only three of us—including
you—but I don’t care to hear you spout your shit.”

“Fuck. You.”

“You’re not my type,” he said and left the
tent.

“Asshole!”

“Spoiled bitch.”

Infuriated at his mental dig, she blew out
a harsh stream of breath through her nose. Even to her own ears she sounded
like a maddened mare.

Garrick groaned and she turned her head to
look at him. He was covered in sweat, his body twitching, and he was digging
his fingernails into the sheet beneath him. Watching him suffering even in his
drugged sleep, she felt some of the anger go out of her. The goddess help her,
she thought, but she loved the man still despite all he’d done. All the deaths
for which he was directly responsible. All the families torn asunder and
futures wrecked. All the pain and suffering and…

“Shit!” she thought, glaring at him. She
hated what he had become. But there was a niggling worry in her mind that she
had helped create the monster he had become. If only she’d stayed at the keep
that fateful night, tried to explain to him about Henry Belvoir, mayhap things
would have been different.

He had hurt her brutally that night.

Not physically. That was something she knew
he would never do. Could ever do.

She thought of the wicked scar on her arm
where his blade had sliced her all the way to the bone. The pain of that was as
much her doing as his, though. It might have been his dagger but it had been
her recklessness of putting herself between two enraged warriors that had
caused it.

No, the night he destroyed Castle
Blackthorn, he destroyed a part of her very soul. It was a transgression for
which she would never be able to forgive him. Would forever condemn him for his
act of vengeance.

She saw his eyes flutter open and his
eyebrows draw together. He was in terrible pain. As she watched, he put a
shaking hand to his temple and pressed.

“Do you need another injection?”

Her silent question surprised him and he
shifted his head toward her. He stared at her with that wounded, agonized
expression that said he was walking a fine line between sanity and madness as
the pain pounded in his brain. Then his eyes widened and he curled his upper
body from the bunk, gagging as nausea gripped him. He was bent over the side of
the mattress but nothing was coming up. She knew from what he had told her long
ago dry heaving was worse than throwing up and put double the pressure on his
head.

Marcus!
she
shouted in her mind and saw Garrick flinch.

The flap fluttered and Marc came in, his
face scrunched up with irritation until he saw his friend leaning over the edge
of the bunk.

He needs another shot,
she sent to him.

“Aye, I figured he would,” Marc said as he
hurried over to Garrick and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Lie back,
Rick. I’ve got a vac-syringe in my pocket.”

“And here I thought you were just happy to
see me,” Garrick mumbled as he lay down.

“Ha-ha,” Marc said and reached into the
deep pocket of his cargo pants for the vac-syringe.” He made quick work of
administering the drug and for once made no wisecrack when Garrick complained
of the fiery pain shooting through his jugular.

“Unchain me and let me see to him,” Antonia
told him.

“Like that’s going to happen,” Marc
groused.

“Release her,” Garrick said, his voice
thick. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“Fucking right she isn’t,” Marc said. He
snapped his head around and gave Antonia a mean look before coming over to
unlock the manacle bands on her ankles. When he undid her wrists, she reached
up to snatch the gag from her mouth.

“Do that to me again and I will cut your
balls off, Zoltán!” she warned.

Marc snorted but moved well out of her way.
“You need anything else?” he asked Garrick.

“A cold cloth,” Garrick replied.

“I’ll see to that,” Antonia said. “You can
go now.”

One dark brow arched into Marc’s curly
hair. “Oh, I can, can I?” he asked with a growl.

“Out!” she said. “He needs to sleep this
off.”

“You’re the one who caused this!” Marc
accused.

“Get. Out. Now!”

Garrick’s lips twitched. He closed his eyes
and began drifting on the sweet tide of the algés. The last thing he felt was a
cold, wet cloth being placed gently on his forehead.

The last thing he heard was his wife
saying, “I’m sorry you’re hurting, Ricky.”

The nickname made him smile and he took
that tender reminder of what they had once had together down with him into
oblivion.

* * * * *

When he woke the next evening, he knew that
second shot had been given an extra boost of what he suspected had been Pairilis—a
very potent paralytic to put him down hard. It worked for the headache was gone
even if the cotton batting-encased world around him had muted sounds, dull colors
and residual numbness.

“Feeling better?”

Her soft voice from across the tent pleased
him.

“Aye,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his
face, knocking the rag on his forehead askew. It was damp and somewhat cool so
he knew she had recently changed it. That she had bothered while he was
unconscious made his heart ache.

“Your asshole friend is having a carriage
brought round to take us to Warwyck Castle.”

“I can sit a horse,” he grumbled.

“He isn’t going to let you and my guess is
he’ll shackle my arm to the seat just for shits and giggles,” she said drily.

He looked over at her. “When did you start
cursing?” he asked with a frown.

“When I grew up,” she replied.

“Well, stop it,” he said. “I don’t like it
and it is neither ladylike nor socially acceptable in a woman of your rank.”

“A woman of my rank?” she asked. “Which is
what exactly?”

“The wife of the Duke of Loghtalid,” he
replied.

“Ah,” she said. “So you’re a duke now.”

“Have been for five years,” he informed
her.

“Duchess Antonia,” she said. “Has a nice
ring to it.”

He was watching her as she sat behind his
desk. She was typing something into his vid-pad and he narrowed his gaze. “Who
are you writing to?” he asked. He wasn’t worried about her sending whatever it
was she was writing because without his personal password, the message would
remain in the draft folder.

“My mother,” she replied without looking at
him. “Now that I know where she is.”

“You don’t have the addy,” he reminded her.

“No, but I’m sure you’ll make sure the
message reaches her.”

“I will read it first,” he stated.

Antonia sighed with exasperation. “Well, of
course you will. I never thought otherwise, knave.”

He blinked. That was twice now she’d used
nicknames that she’d had for him long ago. He took a deep breath and his words
came out in a rush.

“Can we start over?”

She looked over at him, her eyebrows drawn
together. “What?”

He propped himself up on one elbow, turned
to face her. “I asked if we could start over,” he said.

For the longest time all she did was stare
at him. There was no expression whatsoever on her face and her eyes held no
emotion, gave no clue as to what was going through her mind. At last she
answered him but her voice was as impassive as her face was impassive.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Can we?”

“I would like to try,” he said. He looked
at her Joining band. “What’s the real reason you didn’t have that removed?”

She glanced down at her arm but didn’t
reply.

“Do you remember what the priest said when
the Band of Devotion was soldered to your arm?”

She nodded. “He said, ‘This is the outward
sign of your union, your link to one another, your eternal reminder that you
are now responsible to another for your actions. With this symbol, you will be
joined for all time. Let all who witness the placement of these bands know. You
are one to another, forever as one, never to be parted by anything, or anyone,
under penalty of death.’”

“And when you were asked to make your vow?”
he pressed. “Do you remember that wording as well?”

Her eyes
misted, expression finally showing in the verdant depths. “I said I have
accepted Garrick Warwyck as my husband of my own free will, without coercion or
duress. He, I have chosen as my own. He and none other.”

He sat up and lowered his legs to the floor
though he kept his hands curled over the edge of the mattress. He smiled
gently, his words soft and low.

“Then we knelt for the Blessing and he told
those gathered that we were kneeling before god and man in obedience to the
wishes of the goddess. He proclaimed us one flesh, one inseparable entity, until
the end of their lives.”

“I remember,” she said quietly and reached
up to wipe at her eye.

“I love you, Antonia,” he said just as
quietly. “I never stopped. I was hurt and angry and I…” He lifted his right
hand and spiked it through his hair. “I intensely regret what I did that night.
I was so jealous, so bitter over Clay and I let all my issues grow way out of
proportion.” He hung his head. “I am deeply sorry I destroyed your home,
wench.”