Coreene Callahan - Knight Avenged

Solid and strong in her arms. Less than a heartbeat away.

No doubt a foolish dream. And yet, it didn’t stop her. The goddess had given her hope. So aye, mayhap if she wished hard enough. If she proved strong enough. If she prayed often enough . . .

Fate would heed the call and bring Henrik back to her.

Golden rays broke through thick mist, warming the tops of Cristobal’s shoulders as the sun rose, welcoming him into the light of a new day. His mouth curved. A rare reprieve. The gift of heat after hours spent crouched behind rock and amid shadow. Not that he suffered any discomfort. The north winds and the brisk cold didn’t bother him. The cramped conditions didn’t either, nor that he’d taken three watches in a row. Nearly six hours spent atop the cliff edge . . .

Watching. Waiting. Searching for the enemy and movement on the trail below.

He didn’t mind the long stretch of time. Or the fact his comrades slept while he remained awake. Xavian and the others needed rest. By some quirk of fate, he didn’t. Couldn’t close his eyes, never mind relax enough to fall asleep. How many days he’d gone without, he didn’t know. Eight . . . or was it nine now? Hard to tell. He’d lost track after the fifth sleepless night. Balanced on the balls of his feet, Cristobal shifted position. Shuffling along the plateau three hundred feet above the valley floor, he stayed low, hidden behind jagged rock, improving his vantage point, concern rising along with the winter wind. His inability to sleep made little sense. He should be exhausted, but for some reason, didn’t feel the least bit fatigued.

Scanning the rolling foothills opposite him, Cristobal clenched his teeth. For some reason. Right. Try again. He knew what plagued him: the stupid chant. The words spilled through his mind, pushing annoyance to new heights and making rest impossible. It wouldn’t leave him alone—always poking, forever prodding, the thrum of urgency unending. Now he throbbed with it, his heart keeping time to the command banging around inside his skull.

Find her, find her. She needs you . . . find her.

Damned frustrating. Particularly since he still didn’t know who the hell she was. No image to go by. Not a single clue to guide him. Just the words, the awful incessant stream of words. Oh and, aye, the twin tattoos. He couldn’t forget about those. The markings—along with the pain burning across his forearms—were as much a part of him now as breathing. An all-day, every night sort of thing, although . . .

For the first time in days, the sting was gone.

Cristobal frowned, then flexed both hands. Odd, but . . . nay, no discomfort whatsoever.

With a flick, he undid the bladed arm cuffs and drew both off. Cold air washed over his skin. Sensation followed, slithering up his arms and over his shoulders before changing course, dragging icy fingers down his back. Cristobal shook off the shiver. The ghosting swirl settled, looping into a circle, spinning like a top, chasing its tail against the nape of his neck. Round and round. Back and forth. He frowned, tracking the pinpricks across his skin. It didn’t hurt. Not exactly. In truth, ’twas almost pleasant.

Soothing even, a gentle touch delivered by unseen hands.

Brow drawn tight, Cristobal unfurled his fists. Open. Close. Flex and release. Taut muscle moved, making the tattoo dance across his skin. He stared at the pattern, examining the fine lines and all the detail. All done, naught left to complete . . . the last line drawn in black ink. And as the invisible hand fell away, taking the magical quill with it, his gaze bounced from one tattoo to the next. Rahat , would you look at that? He could see the hellhounds now—coarse fur, sawtooth spikes rising like jagged fins along each spine, sharp fangs bared beneath slanted eyes. Mesmerized by the design, he traced the thickest line, stroking a fingertip over the bridge of the beast’s nose, then behind its blunt ear.

A growl echoed inside his head.

Pain clawed at his temples. Cristobal shook his head, but it was too late. The pressure built and his mind unhinged, opening a fissure into the unknown. Into something greater. Into a vast space filled with majesty and magic. As the chasm grew, twin entities stepped through the breech, one behind the other, huge claw-tipped paws leading the way as—

“Cristobal.” Familiar and deep, the voice drifted from the trail behind a rock face.

Ah hell. Xavian. Talk about bad timing.

Choking on magic, Cristobal coughed, fighting to find his voice. He needed to warn Xavian. Tell him . . . he frowned . . . what exactly? Stay away? Put his arse in gear and get him help? Jesus, he couldn’t decide. Not while the beasts circled inside his head and his muscles screamed. Absorbing the agony, insight struck. Oh God. The pair was trying to get out—to leave the confines of his mind and take physical form.

Razor-sharp teeth bared, the pair paced—back and forth, round and round—urging him to set them free. The click of claws tapped against his eardrums. Soft snarls pressed in, amplifying the sound, making his skull throb as the two grew in size, lethal presence expanding by the second. The pain increased. The pressure swelled into cerebral burn, threatening to geyser and . . . rahat , here it came . . .

His stomach heaved.

Bile touched the back of his throat. Swallowing the bad taste, Cristobal retreated and, head bowed, slid backward onto one knee. Away from the cliff’s edge. Toward the trailhead and his best friend. Probably not the best move. Cristobal didn’t care. He needed help. Right now. Couldn’t contain the hellhounds much longer, much less—

The tattoos shifted.

One moment, the ink sat on his forearms. The next, the pair came alive, leaping off his skin, streaking into black blurs. The duo took physical form mid-jump. Huge paws thumped down on the plateau in front of him, kicking up stone dust. Cristobal froze, becoming a living statue as the twin hellhounds—each movement in perfect accord—pivoted toward him. Heads low, ears back, glossy pelts and bladed spines glinting in the sunlight, the beasts roared at him. The shrieks obliterated the quiet, rising in a deafening wave, bombarding the sheer cliff face behind him. Chips of shale came loose and tumbled, cascading down to slam into the base of the stone wall.

“ La dracu ,” Xavian said as he stepped off the narrow trail, onto the plateau.

Huge fangs bared, the beasts’ focus snapped toward his best friend.

“Don’t move.” Still on one knee, his gaze locked on the hellhounds, Cristobal raised his hand, backing up word with deed. The second Xavian moved—drew his weapons or tried to back away—the beasts would give chase. Stood to reason. Predators, after all, enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. “Stay perfectly still.”

Hands gripping his knife hilts, Xavian froze, obeying without question.

Cristobal shifted to the balls of his feet, drawing the hellhounds’ ire. Two sets of eyes settled back on him. The pair sidestepped, huge paws padding softly in stone dust. Covered by black fur, interlocking scales clicked as they moved, the body armor sending an ominous message through the quiet. Lethal accord. Duel purpose. The beasts shared common intent—one grounded in a prospect called unfriendly. Bladed tails twitching, the duo met his gaze. Cristobal drew a deep breath, then exhaled long and slow. Calm. Cool. And collected. He must epitomize all three. Otherwise his attempt to tame the twins wouldn’t end well, never mind . . .

Nay, scratch that. Not twins. Not exactly.

His eyes narrowed. The twosome looked alike—almost identical—but not quite. Slight though the differences might be, he identified individual characteristics. Without moving a muscle, he looked them over again. The hellhound on his right stared at him through unblinking yellow eyes. The beast on the left, however, possessed a unique pair—one yellow eye, the other bright blue. The variance didn’t stop there either. Blue Eyes sported a single snow-white paw while her sibling was black from head to the tip of her tail. Both female. Both huge, standing at least five hands at the withers . . . species not of this world. Razor-sharp teeth set alongside jagged fangs. Lethal claws tipping enormous paws. Blunt ears rising from enormous heads that resembled a cat’s with some wolf thrown in for good measure.