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Was the wife responsible for this? Or were the pair ambushed?
In his weakened condition, Fox could take him, no problem. But…she had no desire to harm him further. Not even to gain her freedom. What is wrong with me?
When he stood directly in front of Fox, he stumbled to a halt and slowly lifted his gaze. The action, slight though it was, seemed to agonize him. Struggling to focus, he opened his mouth…
“Help,” he croaked. Then, he collapsed.
Chapter Six
Worry consumed Fox. The fact that Bjorn requested aid from her, his greatest enemy…
He must be near death. Must be out of his ever-loving mind.
Great! Her worry amplified, rousing an undeniable need to avenge him. Although, there was a good chance the desire sprang from seeing such a strong, proud male in such a deplorable condition. But that made no sense! Bjorn intended to kill her. Thus, he had to die. If someone else did the dirty work, great, even better.
No. No! The easy route wasn’t always the best route. Or the right one. Patch him up, then fight him. It wasn’t the smart thing to do, but it was honorable.
So she’d never before cared about honor. So what? For whatever reason, different parts of her panicked at the thought of Bjorn’s death. For her peace of mind, she must save him.
The decision solidified, and she nodded. Unable to do anything worthwhile, she performed the only task certain to make a difference. She shouted for his friends. “Hey! Someone! Anyone! Bjorn is in trouble. Heeeey! Do you want him to die?”
Nothing, no response. Not even an eruption of footsteps. “Or not make a difference,” she muttered. The dungeon must be soundproof, ensuring no screams reached the main house…castle? Fortress?
Where was she? The heavens? Yeah. Probably. Rumors suggested Bjorn and his friends stored prisoners in the Downfall’s dungeon on numerous occasions.
Let the warrior die, Distrust whispered. As long as he lives, you are endangered.
Bjorn moaned and writhed in pain.
Ignore the demon. He’s still feeding. Frustrated with the situation, with the fiend, with anything and everything, she crouched in front of the Sent One. He’d landed on his side, facing her. A major blessing. She extended an arm through the bars, contorted this way and that, and…contact!
She patted his ice-cold throat, feeling for a pulse… There! A cool tide of relief washed over her nerves, soothing the worst of her distress. Though weak, his pulse remained steady.
His lips parted, another moan slipping out.
“What happened to you?” she asked again.
He fluttered open his eyelids, revealing glassy irises and blown pupils. Their gazes met, and a tide of compassion rose up, flooding Fox.
Compassion? For the man tasked with her murder? That’s a first. Probably due to the lust she’d experienced earlier.
Lust for her captor. Another first.
Well, it had been years…centuries…since she’d slept with anyone or felt any kind of arousal. But why him, and why now? “What do you need?” she asked, using a soft tone. A lump grew in her throat. “How can I help you, Bjorn?”
“Help,” he echoed.
“I’m trying!” A sense of desperation overshadowed every other emotion. Think! She couldn’t remove his robe to check for injuries or signs of internal bleeding. She couldn’t portal out of the cell, and wouldn’t be heard even if she screamed until her vocal cords seized. She couldn’t even lay beside him to warm him up. Think harder.
Distrust whispered, He’s faking.
She stiffened. Ignore the demon and check Bjorn’s vitals.
Vitals. Right. If he’d slipped away while she debated how to help…
Fox latched on to Bjorn’s wrist, planted her feet against the bars, and pushed with her heels, tugging the warrior close…closer. Another pulse check. Just as weak, but still steady. Excellent.
He’d lost so much blood, his lips had taken on a blue tint. Blood. Yes. He needed to replace what he’d lost. Since no other volunteers stood nearby, the obligation fell to Fox. She reached out and cut her palm on a jagged piece of rock protruding from the wall. Blood welled—blood she poured down his throat.
Wait! She balled her hand into a fist, catching the blood before it trickled to his mouth.
Gatekeepers, like Sent Ones, rarely shared their blood with others. Blood was sacred to them both. Blood equaled life and power.
So…what were the pros and cons?
Con: She and Bjorn would feed off each other, similar to the way Distrust often fed off her.
Con: For a day or two, Bjorn would have temporary access to her portal-opening ability. He would also see into her mind for that length of time.
Pro:
Well. Okay, then. She gulped. Was Bjorn truly worth all the risk with little reward?
In her mother’s days, Gatekeepers had shared their blood with each other on a daily basis, using the temporary bonds to increase their individual strengths. Often, they’d held hands, stood in a circle, and worked together to create entire realms and dimensions. But those bonds had led to multiple wars as secrets came to light. If Bjorn learned her secrets…
If she did nothing, he would surely die.
Inside, she recoiled. Screw it! She would save him now and deal with any fallout later.
Fox opened her palm, letting her blood drip into Bjorn’s mouth.
* * * *
A scene played within Bjorn’s mind, as vivid as a movie on a screen. He watched as a little girl with tangled dark hair and large hazel eyes stumbled down a narrow alley between two stone structures. Those structures reminded him of shops he’d seen in ancient Greece, while the girl reminded him of Fox.
His chest clenched. She wore what appeared to be a burlap sack. A dirty sack. Filth covered her from head to toe, and she was thin. Too thin, basically a skeleton with skin and hair. Her complexion was sallow.
She exited the alley and entered an over-crowded market, with vendors hawking meat pies, cheeses, jars of honey, horseshoes, glass, pottery, fish, metals, fabrics, and so much more. He reeled as voices rang out. He detected Latin, Ionic, and Attic Greek. The girl was in Ancient Greece.
A blacksmith glistened with sweat as he hammered a sword before a crackling fire pit. A cobbler measured a little boy’s foot. Men were dressed in long wool tunics and cloaks with shoulder clasps. Women were similarly attired, the fabrics more colorful and elaborate as well as several inches longer. Buyers paid for their wares with silver coins or drachma.
Was he reliving a memory from his past? But…he did not recall the girl in any way, shape or form.
Whenever people caught sight of her, they reacted in one of two ways. A grimace, or a glare. Far too many openly stared, their features etched with distaste. His chest clenched again, only harder, a sharp pang lancing his heart. The little darling knew these people despised her, but she refused to cower, keeping her head high and her shoulders back. Pride stamped every inch of her being. The same pride he’d witnessed when they’d faced off in her bathroom.
Pang, pang. This must be Fox. But how and why would he receive a glimpse into her past? Unless his imagination was responsible. But why would his mind craft a fake, sympathetic backstory for someone on his hit list? It wouldn’t. Had to be a memory, as originally suspected.
When Fox came upon the vendor selling meat pies, she paused. A bit of drool leaked from the corner of her mouth, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Once again, his pangs worsened. This time, Bjorn longed to claw out his heart and lay it at her feet.
Noticing the girl’s fixation, the seller scowled, pulled a pebble from a satchel tied to his waist—as if he’d been waiting for this moment—and launched it at her. The rock slammed into her forehead, breaking the skin. With a cry of pain, she stumbled back. A streak of crimson trickled between her eyes and dripped from the tip of her nose.
Too weak to catch herself, she bumped into a big brute who wore a bronzed cuirass and a pair of greaves. He car
ried a shield in one hand and a spear in the other. A foot soldier.
