In the Flesh (29 page)

He stood. “Perhaps you should study my proposal in private,” he suggested.

The king arched a blond brow. “In a hurry, Wulfric?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“I thought this treaty was of great importance to you.”

“They are
all
important to me,” Wulf reiterated, “but it’s unnecessary for me to sit here while you read.”

“Maybe I’ll have a question to ask,” Gunther pointed out with suspicious innocence.

“Write it down. I’ll answer it in the morning.” Wulf turned toward the exit, gesturing to his guardsmen to follow.

“Your manners still need improvement,” the king bit out.

Wulf laughed. “Let’s wrap this up so we can get on with—”

The door burst open and a large contingent of D’Ashier guards poured in. The commanding officer, a captain, made a quick bow before speaking.

“The camp is under attack, Your Highness.” He shot a venomous glance at the Sarian king. “Some of the men wear Sarian uniforms.”

Wulf rushed to the exit and caught a faint glimpse of black smoke rising from the direction of his camp.

Katie.

“Where is the Princess Consort?” he demanded.

“She fights with the soldiers.”

No.
His heart stopped. If something happened to Katie…

He faced the king, who paled beneath his artificial tan.

“You son of a bitch!” Wulf leaped onto the table. “This was never about treaties.”

He ran toward the king. Gunther pushed to his feet and stumbled backward…straight into Grave Erikson, who rushed in through the secondary door.

“Come no closer, Your Highness,” the general growled, “or I will be forced to stop you.”

Wulf paused mid-stride, seeing the stark tension that tightened the older man’s features.

“Go to Katie,” Erikson ordered, his bloodless grip on the king speaking volumes. “Find her. Keep her safe.”

Wulf nodded. Without hesitation, he turned and ran the length of the table to the exit.

“Wait!” Gunther shouted after him. “If you give her back to me, I’ll sign every treaty.”

Wulf’s stride didn’t break and within moments he was seated on a skip, flying across the rapidly darkening desert toward his wife.

Chapter 21

Sapphire feinted to the left when Gordmere parried her lunge with a defensive swipe of his glaive. The sun was dipping behind the dunes at her back. With the biggest source of illumination coming from the light of the mercenary’s blade, she could see nothing besides Gordmere, which made searching for her glaive-hilt nearly impossible.

She had only one advantage and that was her ability to see him while she could hide in the gathering darkness.

“Why prolong the inevitable?” he jeered.

She knew better than to reply and reveal her position. If he wanted her dead, he’d have to work for it.

Circling him, she secured her mask.

The mercenary swung in a circle, using the blade light to locate her. His grin was pure viciousness when their gazes met. He began to press his advantage with a series of wild swings. Twisting and leaping, Sapphire managed to stay in one piece, then she hit the upward curve of the berm behind her and tripped.

Rolling in an effort to stay a moving target rather
than a stationary one, she fought the embrace of the shifting sands. As Gordmere used the elegant weapon as a blunt force instrument, hacking into the desert floor, she staved off panic by ignoring the heat of the laser, which could only be felt in close proximity. He was getting too close. She kicked out blindly and felt triumphant when she connected.

“Bitch!”

“Asshole.”

Kicking out with both feet, the heels of her boots connected squarely with his shins. She heard the thud of his body hitting the ground, then the darkness was complete as he lost his glaive, the blade disengaging as it broke contact with his palm.

For the moment, at least, they were almost even.

They both lunged in the general direction of the glaive-hilt. Gordmere landed almost on top of her. He shoved her face into the sand. She thrashed beneath him, gasping into her mask.

He was so heavy, too strong, and he killed for a living. She felt his weight shift, his knee digging into her spine with paralyzing intent. She hissed into her mask, her fingers clawing at the sand, searching for his lost weapon.

She felt it.

With the last of the strength she had, she shifted him enough to catch the hilt in her fingers. The blade engaged, turning the surrounding sand to glass and startling Gordmere into leaping back, freeing her.

Sapphire rolled, wielding the glaive in an arc above her. Gordmere bellowed as she nicked him. He kicked out and the hilt was dislodged from her
hands, sailing over the berm far beyond her reach. She scrambled away. He leaped and caught her ankle in his hand, tugging her back down.

Kicking with her free leg, she fought for freedom. The heel of her boot made repeated and brutal contact with the top of his head and shoulders. Still, he came at her, climbing over her.

She writhed to get away, her strength fading in the face of his greater might. If he made it on top of her, she’d never survive it. Her head made contact with something hard, a rock or other protrusion. Gordmere pinned her in place. Reaching up, she dug for the object with nimble fingers, hoping she could use whatever it was as a weapon. If she could bash him in the temple with it, she might knock him out. Or kill him.

When she managed to thrust her fingers beneath it, she was surprised at what she found.

Her glaive-hilt. Or perhaps it was his, and hers had flown over the berm.

Either way, it would save her life. She ripped the mask aside.

“I wanted to interrogate you first,” she gritted out, her hand gripping the hilt.

Gordmere straddled her hips and loomed over her, laughing.

“Sadly”—she engaged the blade—“you’ll just have to die.”

In the white glow of the laser, she saw the fear register in his eyes. Then his head was gone, severed by her swinging glaive.

His torso swayed for a moment above her. The smell of burnt flesh from the cauterized wound
made her stomach roil. She pushed at the body with her hands and it fell backward, tumbling down the side of the berm.

Sapphire lay there for a moment, gasping and crying, the grip of fear reluctant to release her.

“Mistress!”

In the obsidian desert night, Clarke was invisible, but she would know his deep voice anywhere.

She struggled to a seated position. “Captain! I’m over here.”

“Are you unharmed?” As he climbed over the rise, the sound of his voice strengthened. “I saw the light of a glaive.”

“I’m fine. Gordmere’s dead.”

“Give me your hand.”

She reached blindly and found him. The captain pulled her to her feet and pushed her toward the faint glow of flames visible just beyond the rise. “We must get you back to camp. Prince Wulfric is going mad looking for you.”

Hearing that, she ran. She scrambled up the side of the dune, following the orange glow of destructive fires just beyond. She reached the top and looked out over the D’Ashier encampment. And saw a nightmare.

Every dome was ablaze and damaged skips lay crashed and burning, releasing thick smoke to pollute the air. Bodies littered the valley floor and horrific screams tore through the night.

War. She’d never seen it firsthand like this. She would never forget it.

Searching through the fighting forms below, Sapphire caught sight of two glaive blades cutting a
large swath through the camp. The deadly beams moved with obvious impatience, and the arms that wielded them, while swinging precisely and with a minimum of exertion, betrayed the bearer’s panic.

Wulf.

She stumbled down the steep side of the dune, her heart racing. She fought off the same confusion and worry she knew he was feeling. Snatching a glaive-hilt from the hand of a dead man, she engaged the blade without a hitch in her stride. She threw herself into the fray with a singular madness, furious at the betrayal that had needlessly cost lives.

Sapphire fought her way through to Wulf, shouting his name all the while, but the din was deafening and she couldn’t even hear herself above it. She was close, just a few feet away, when he turned and caught sight of her.

His face was pale beneath his tan, lines of worry and tension rimming his eyes and mouth. He strode toward her, his ceremonial robes billowing behind him as he fought his way through to her. His gaze never left her face, despite the smoke that stung their eyes and made them water. She battled her way toward him as well, the path clearing as more of the mercenaries fled and the D’Ashier force overtook the Sarian soldiers who remained.

As they closed in on each other, she saw the fury in his gaze and the bloodlust. His was a frightening countenance of torment and she ran to him, leaping over a falling enemy soldier when he crumbled to the ground in her path.

“Wulf!”

He disengaged his blades the instant before she
threw herself at him. He crushed her to his chest. With the ringing in her ears and her face pressed tightly to his skin, it took her a moment to realize they were in the palace transfer room.

Wulf shook her until her teeth rattled. “What the hell were you still doing out there?”

She blinked, her mind faltering from the shock of the day’s events. He crushed her against him again, and her hands wrapped tightly around him.

“Damn you.” His hands moved feverishly over her body, checking for injuries. “Why didn’t you come back here? When I couldn’t find you, I thought…” He choked. “I almost lost my mind.”

“Gordmere blocked the ring.” Her voice was hoarse from yelling.

“I was going mad searching for you!”

“I was over the rise. Gordmere’s dead.” She stared up into his face, noting that he was still so pale. “I can’t believe he arranged all of this. He’s—”

“It was Gunther.”

“
What?
He wouldn’t dare start a war—”

“He did. And he has. He knew you were with me.” Wulf exhaled harshly. “As long as you’re safe, I can manage the rest.”

Her hand slid up to cup his face. As her touch left a trail of blood behind, she gave an alarmed cry. She pulled back, searching for wounds.

Ripping open the clasp to his robes, she found the deep gash in his right side. “Dear God, no!”

“It’s nothing.” He attempted to pull her closer. The fact that she easily resisted his strength belied his words and made her stomach knot.

“You need a healing chamber, my love.”

He nodded wearily.

“You should have left when you were injured,” she scolded, but her voice was shaky and she knew she sounded more frightened than chastising. She was terrified.

“I couldn’t leave without you.”

Her hands shook as she applied pressure to the wound. “And I can’t live without you.”

The deep red color of his robes had hidden the amount of blood lost, but now she could see that he was bleeding copiously. His
dammr
-suit was soaked on the right side down to the knee and the stain was spreading rapidly. She gestured to the guardsmen surrounding the room’s perimeter. They rushed forward to assist their prince.

“Take him to the medical wing,” she ordered. “Hurry.”

The guards moved him toward the door.

“Come with me, Katie,” Wulf slurred.

“Nothing could keep me away.”

Covered in an icy sweat, she followed him to the healing rooms. Once he was safely inside the tube and she verified for herself that his vitals were stabilizing, she relaxed, her forehead resting against the glass door. Dizzy with relief, her heart finally slowed from its frantic rhythm.

Fingertips tapped against the glass and she lifted her teary gaze to his. Their gazes locked—his fierce and possessive, hers filled with love. Wulf rested his open palm against the glass and she lifted her hand to press opposite his.

The moment was similar to the first time they’d met. The moment they’d first fallen in love. Sapphire
could see in the tenderness etched on his features that he was remembering, too.

She pressed her lips to the glass in a soft kiss.

I love you,
she mouthed, placing her hand over her heart. The emotion that crossed his face at her words made her chest ache. She loved him so much she could scarcely breathe.

This was the last time she would allow something like this to happen, the last time she would ever come close to losing him. She’d had enough.

And she knew just where to go to put an end to it all.

Sapphire backed away, and Wulf, who knew her so well, understood what she intended. He shook his head furiously, his black hair blowing around his face in the swirling air pressure. She looked at his wounded side and watched his injury healing. She didn’t have much time before he came after her. Knowing the clock was ticking, she blew him a kiss and rushed from the room.

As she made her way to the transfer room, the flat heels of her boots tapped in rapid staccato on the marble floor. She passed the bowing guards and headed straight to the keypad to type in her desired coordinates and her personal identification code. Stepping onto the pad, she waited the brief fifteen-second delay she’d programmed, then found herself in her father’s office in the Sarian palace.

The palace Guardian system still accepted her transfers.

The last time she’d transferred in, she had been returning from a visit with her mother. She’d been
coming home. Now the reason for her presence wasn’t so benign.

In fact, it was murderous.

Grave watched with barely restrained fury as his king paced the length of the massive throne room. Good men had died tonight, for this one man’s folly.

“I cannot believe you sent Wulfric after Sapphire!” Gunther raged.

“I can’t believe you started a war over her! Have you any idea what you’ve done? The lives that will be lost?”

The king pivoted, his features contorted with rage. “You
knew
. You knew they were together, yet you said nothing to me.”

“How was I to know that you would do something so damned idiotic?” Grave snapped, his blood thrumming with frustration.