Hotter on the Edge (21 page)

She was so quiet. He'd thought she had fallen asleep. Then… "No."

"Why?"

"Because if anyone will be doing the avenging, it will be me."

Chapter Seven

Lake woke, her heart pounding, her muscles tight. A shout? A mimicked call of an animal? It took a moment for her to take in her surroundings: The exposed beams on the ceiling, the heavy wood furniture that were no more than dark shapes in the night, and a pair of legs that were entangled with her own.

She was with Hudson—her husband. She was safe. She tried to move, but the arm that was draped over her, pulled her back until her bottom was nestled against his groin. Lake experimented a little and wiggled. He moaned softly in his sleep, and she could feel his body react to hers. Lake smiled. She was sore, but on a different level there was a bone deep satisfaction. What if she could spend the rest of her life here, in this bed, with this man? Was it so bad to want to stop fighting? Was it wrong of her to want peace?

She shook her head. No, there was a bigger picture than just her.

Last night was colored by a kaleidoscope of emotions. When Hudson had first made her his, it had burned. Then Hudson had been there, filling her until she didn't think she'd ever be able to breathe again. He'd moved with the same rhythm as when his fingers had been deep inside her, but different, more. Her body ached, reaching for something. Then the world had exploded. The sound of her name on Hudson's lips still sent shivers through her. The place where his name marked her as his still tingled.

There'd been blood, just like she'd promised. Hudson had remade the bed, cleaned her up, and then they made love again, slower. The sheets that proved her virginity were folded and placed in the chest by the foot of the bed. His claim on her was absolute.

The night air was thick with the anticipation of rain. Heat lightening flashed through the slit window high above her bed. No distant roar of thunder followed.

A low whistle sounded, so faint, and yet…Lake sat straight up in bed. She knew that call. Had relived that call a thousand times in her head. The call bred fear like moldy wheat left in the storehouse.
Elder. Raid.

But this time there'd be war. She'd make sure of it. They weren't going to take everything this time. This time Vonn was safe. He couldn't be used against her. She'd fight to the death before she'd go back to prison.

Lake flung off Hudson's arm and jumped out of bed. Her husband was still snoring by the time she was dressed.

Boots on, sword strapped to her side, she flung open the door prepared to meet them head on. Never again would she be dragged out of her bed, taken unaware, made to watch her home burn.

"What's going on?" Hudson sat up, hand rubbing across his face, hair devastatingly rumpled. Lake's heart caught. Never again would she watch her family die.

She smiled to reassure him. "Stay here. I'll come back when it's safe."

Lake closed the door, turned the key in the lock, and walked down the hallway. The look on Hudson's face had been priceless. He hadn't known what hit him. It was better that way. She'd keep him safe.

Besides, he'd never understand. He'd think this involved him—his wife, his duty to protect her. But this had always been about her. She fought her fights alone.

The Marker was passed out before the cold hearth, the bottle of wine beside him. For a split second Lake was jealous, but no, this was better. Better to go down fighting.

She paused at the front door, pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
Wait for it.
There. A cross between a raven's screech and an owl's cry, but different and a hundred percent Elder.

Fear could be an out of control fire, destroying all in its path. Sometimes though, found buried beneath the cold ash, fear could be winter. A cold that numbed the skin, numbed the blood, slowed the heart. A fear that could murder.

Lake opened the door, and stepped out into a nightmare. She'd seen this every night since the raid—dark hooded men, wicked looking torches, long silver swords riding low on their hips. In some weird sick way this felt right. She was tired of reliving hell. Time to end it one way or another.

One man drew her gaze like a lure would a fish. And like a fish she was hooked and reeled in. The others parted before her, or faded away, she wasn't sure. Didn't care. He was the only one that mattered to her. Before she'd viewed events through a muddy pane of glass, and now her view was crystal clear. They'd been racing toward this meeting since the night he'd come asking her father's permission to buy her.

Lake could hear his voice, strong and gravelly even through her bedroom wall. "I'll pay you double the 'bride price' if you let me Mark her now. I'll even let her live here with you until she turns eighteen."

Lake pulled the red silk scarf the Elder had given her from around her throat and let it float to the floor. She hadn't been impressed with his offer, especially when it had come from a man well past his youth. His oily raven hair had fallen limply around a long face whose most prominent feature was a nose with a bulbous hook on the tip. His hands were veined and sun spotted, resembling an owl's talon.

She shuddered at the thought of a talon's claw touching her skin.

"I'd hoped for a man closer to my daughter's age. Someone she could grow old with and live a happy life," her father said
.

There was a drawn out silence, and Lake would've given anything to have seen her suitor's face.

"I'll be walking the earth long after you're rotting underneath it, old man. Most people don't live long enough to regret refusing me."

She wasn't sure when she'd put all the pieces together. Maybe she'd always known. Maybe that's what had kept her alive and breathing in prison, kept her moving on and not giving up. Maybe it hadn't been her love for Vonn, but instead vengeance for her parents' murder.

She studied the man who'd offered to buy her, who'd forced a kiss on her, who'd killed her parents. His shoulders were broader than she remembered, but the robe was the same—a deeper black, and of better quality. The cloth shimmered in the torchlight as if caught in some withering dance. His sword, marked by the face of a ram with two rubies for eyes, was still sheathed at his hip.

"Rameses," she called out. Her voice strong and sure.

"Lake." Rameses bowed before her as would a knightly gentleman before a lady.

Lake unsheathed her sword and swung. He jumped back, his head still attached—but barely.

Rameses drew his sword, caution replacing the arrogance in his eyes. "There is no honor in killing a man as he bows his greeting."

"There is no honor for a man with the blood of innocents on his hands." She thrust forward hoping her quickness would catch him off guard. Her sword was lighter than his, easier to move through the air, quicker to slice a man to ribbons.

Rameses laughed, blocking her strikes with ease. "I assume by innocents you mean your parents. Take heart, dear one, your father was by no means blameless. He was a Rebel sympathizer and had a computer in his home. His death was just and far too quick for a traitor's."

"My father was loyal to The Way his entire life."

His smile was sly. "Yes, but you weren't."

Lake stepped back and pulled the hilt of her sword to her hip, ready to strike forward with a lunge.
Watch the man, not his weapons.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the other cloaked figures step back and blend into the night. Just him and her then, no interference, but what about Hudson's men? Surely, they would've heard the commotion and come out to defend their land. "What have you done to my men?"

She watched Rameses mirror her attack stance. His sword pointed up and angled at her. "Are you wondering why the farmer's men aren't here? I'm wondering why your husband isn't. Unless he took part in the celebratory wine. In that case, he'll be passed out along with the others."

Hudson was locked safely behind walls that could shame a fortress. And the others? The others she couldn't worry about now.

Rameses struck—a mere kiss of the blades to assess her skill. Lake wasn't worried. She was strong, she was quick, and she had rage on her side.

The mugginess of the night had her shirt sticking to her in no time. Sweat dampened her brow. Rameses did a series of attacks that she blocked overhead. His superior strength and weight of his sword had her arms shaking. She wouldn't win this fight on strength alone; she'd win on endurance.

"I was there for your execution," he said. "Did you see me? I waited for you to beseech mercy to the crowd, but you never did. Instead, your back-hill lover confessed your affair." He backed off allowing her to catch her breath. "Do you know what they call a woman who gives her virginity up without a Mark?"

Lake couldn't care less what he called her. She just wanted him dead.

"Whore." He thrust his blade toward her middle.

She blocked his sword with her own. "Better a back-hill's whore than a murdering coward's wife."

His face flushed red and his arm swung high for a chopping blow. She countered with a dragging step and aimed an undercut at his wrists.

He leaped back at the last moment, her blade sliding off his in a lover's caress.
Patience, Lake.
He'd make another mistake.
Wear him down.
She had more skill than most men expected from a woman. But the realization in his eyes told her she'd lost her most valuable weapon—surprise.

The black clouds finally broke. Spits of rain turned into large impregnated drops that quickly soaked her hair and turned the thirsty ground into mud.

She was breathing hard, but then again, so was he. He was strong for an old man, stronger than she'd expected. When she'd first met him close to a year ago, his robe had hung from his frame, a sunken body hidden beneath the folds. Now he filled out the robe with an almost robust presence. The sun spots on his face had faded, the skin under his chin no longer doubled over when he talked. Rain sluiced down her neck, but it wasn't the cold that gave her a chill. "How many microbiotics have you taken?"

One side of his mouth twitched upward. "Not enough."

While she'd been figuring out the formula for the microbiotics she discovered that they did more than speed the healing process, they reversed disease. And in theory, when given enough over time, the microbiotics could reverse the most insidious disease of all—aging.

Lake hadn't believed it. There was no way, and yet, here stood a man who was years younger than when she'd first met him.

"The shortage of microbiotics has been you all along." She didn't wait for an answer. Why bother when the truth stared at her in the face? How many people had died from infection and disease, unable to get the medication that could've saved their lives?

Anger clouded her judgment and she rushed in for the kill. Her arm shook as she swung. Over and over she lunged with her sword trying to get past his guard, but she'd lost confidence. She could've taken on an old man, but it wasn't an old man who she was fighting.

The fight wore on. Soon it became obvious to her what had been obvious to Rameses all along. What had been apparent to his men, and why they'd allowed their leader to fight her without interfering.

She was no match for Rameses.

You were prepared for this to be the end
.

She put her teeth on edge and notched her chin.
So be it.

***

Hudson had stared at his wife a full second before he moved. He blamed it on last night. Apparently, sex made a man stupid.

Had Lake really just told him to stay here? And the other question. Had he really just let her go? Moron.

Hudson jumped out of bed and ran to the door. Of course, it was locked. Hadn't he seen her take the key and walk out? He took a few steps back and then plowed toward the door with all his might.

By The Path that door was…solid.

He rubbed his shoulder, and then checked to see if all his teeth were still in his head. Had his great, great, great, grandfather really built a bedroom door out of what—oak? Had he thought to hold out against a siege from his bedroom?

A clash of swords brought Hudson up short. He ran to the window and pulled himself up. The opening was narrow and didn't allow much of a view, but he could see the flickering of torches, hear the metallic dance of iron on iron.

Lake? Hudson shook his head. No, his men would've been awakened by now, and at the very least would've come to the defense of his farm. But he didn't hear the cries of men in battle or the howls of his dogs. Where was Lake? Where were his men? The dogs?

Hudson dropped to the ground. His home, and God forbid, his wife, were under attack and here he was locked in his room like a helpless babe.

With his heart in his throat, he did the only thing he could think of. He pounded on the door with his fists and shouted loud enough to shake the rafters.

***

Lake was tired. The muscles in her back screamed with every block of her sword. He was gaining on her now. With his every attack she had to retreat to remain standing. His thrusts were coming faster and harder now.
Just a matter of time.

Water sluiced down her face, blurring her vision. Her grip on her sword slipped, and more than once she slid in the mud.

"I don't want to kill you," Rameses said.

"Then we are of the same mind; I don't want you to kill me either," Lake panted, trying to hold her ground in a foot of water. "Lay down your sword, and I'll go back inside and get warm."

Rameses didn't laugh at her joke. Maybe it wasn't funny.

"What and let you go back inside to your farmer boy? He's already dead—I just haven't killed him yet. I know the Marker is here, I followed him to you. It would be a simple matter of tattooing a line through that famer's name, and having mine marked higher up your back."

"His name is Hudson." Why that mattered, she didn't know.