Breathe (The Destiny Series: Book 1) Read online

  “What? Start a fire? Surely you know how to start a fire, Dearra,” he taunted her.

  “You kno-w-w-w- what I m-m-m…”

  Darius took pity on the chattering Dearra and finished her thought for her. “Yes, I know what you mean. I am a Breken, Dearra. We can all bring fire with ease. How did you think they destroyed your ships so thoroughly and so quickly?”

  Dearra decided she was going to have to learn more about this little talent of his. Maybe it was something that could be learned. Starting fire so swiftly and without flint could mean the difference between life and death. Dearra sank down in front of the fire and tucked her exposed legs under herself as best she could. Darius joined her and stretched out his own long legs in front of the blaze, his back resting against what must have been a most uncomfortable boulder. Dearra couldn’t get comfortable at all. She was hungry, tired, cold, and her hand hurt. She twisted and fidgeted to find a good way to sit that wouldn’t require her to brace herself with her injured hand.

  “Oh for the love of—” Darius reached out one strong arm, wrapped it around Dearra’s waist, and pulled her over so she was sitting between his outstretched legs. He gently tugged her back to let her know she could lean against his chest.

  Dearra froze in shock. It happened so quickly, and she knew she should protest that it was completely inappropriate, but the truth was she was exceedingly comfortable. The heat from his chest on her back helped ease her violent shaking, and his closeness was just what she needed to distract her from the pain in her hand. She waited for the scolding she thought sure to be coming from Brin, but he was blessedly silent. The day’s events had finally taken their toll on her, and she began to drift off to sleep. Just before she completely succumbed to her dreams, she could have sworn she felt a large, calloused hand trace gently along the side of her face, then sleep claimed her, and the sound of Brin’s amused chuckle echoed through her mind.

  ***

  It was near midnight when Hugh and the band of seasoned warriors reached the lake. There had been no sign of his daughter or Darius, and Hugh was beside himself with worry. “Did you bring it, Daniel?” he asked.

  Daniel pulled the hairbrush from inside the small leather bag at his side and handed it to Hugh, who hurried it to the dogs so they could take in Dearra’s scent. He knew they had been there, and since Dearra was often out walking nearer the castle, Hugh decided to wait until they had a good starting point before releasing the dogs. He worried that, closer to home, they would pick up the wrong trail. It only took the dogs a couple of minutes before they sounded loud, baying barks, indicating they had found something. Racing ahead of the others, Hugh got to the spot first. The torch in his hand shook and wavered as the mighty Hugh dropped to his knees and gathered up his daughter’s leather vest. His eyes took in the sight. He knew, instantly that the half-dried mess that soaked the leather could only be blood. Throwing his head back, Hugh exploded with a roar of pure rage and grief.

  ***

  Darius was already awake when dawn broke through the thick tangle of trees. The rock at his back was making its presence known, and he winced as he shifted his position, but the rock was the least of his worries. He struggled, valiantly, to keep his gaze from the legs of his tempting companion. The shirt he had assured her would be quite enough for modesty’s sake had edged higher in the night as she’d adjusted her position, and it now exposed just enough to make Darius regret he had taken an oath against being like his less civilized kin. But for all his self-imposed discomfort, he was reluctant to wake the sleeping Dearra who had nestled herself, quite snugly, up against him. Just when he thought he would be forced to gently lift her away, her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and her glorious eyes opened and looked directly into his own.

  Realizing the intimacy of the moment, a pretty blush heated her face, and she made quickly to get to her feet. “We should get going,” Dearra said, her voice shaking a bit as she slid her legs into the still damp pants.

  He told himself to look away from Dearra as she hopped up and down, urging the damp pants higher. Though his intentions were good, his eyes did not wish to obey. He shook his head, scolding himself. When he spoke, his voice betrayed his feelings and it came out harsh and clipped. “Get ready, then. I am going to get a drink and wash some of the grime from my face.”

  Dearra misinterpreted the cold voice. “Not much of a morning person are you?” She had finally succeeded in pulling on the pants and fastening them securely at the waist. She didn’t even look up as she gathered her boots and sword.

  “I like mornings just fine,” he grumbled, and then continued, too quiet for her to hear, “It’s the nights that are going to be the death of me.”

  “Hurry, Darius. I want to find the trail again as soon as possible.”

  Darius stood and winced. His legs and back screamed their displeasure as he stretched in an effort to get blood flowing to his stiff joints. Sleeping on the ground was nothing new, but his arm made a better pillow than the rock behind him had, and having Dearra nestled between his legs all night didn’t turn out to be as good an idea as he had first thought. He had meant only to keep her warm and give what little relief he could. He never imagine the discomfort that it would cause him to have her so close. If she had been able to hear his less than honorable thoughts, she would never have willingly stayed so close.

  Darius crouched low, scooped water into his cupped hands, and drank, soothing the thirst that had been building for the last couple of hours. He reached his hand for more of the cool water and stopped abruptly. His reflection stared back at him, his dark hair framing his face and his Breken braid which had fallen over his shoulder and was nearly touching the water. He reached a hand to the tattoo that marked his face, his fingers tracing their way from temple to cheekbone. He looked savage, even to himself.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Dearra was leaning against the rock he had braced himself against in the night, lacing her boots over her feet. Her hands struggled with the wet, leather ties as she tried to manage most of the work with only her one good hand. He was going to have to remember to take a look at her cut. They hadn’t really given it the attention it deserved. He stared a moment more, thinking about how different she was from the women he had known. She was so fair, so small, and so beautiful in a pure and innocent way that made it seem she was oblivious to her own beauty. Breken women knew exactly what assets men most desired and felt no shame in exploiting any physical trait to their best advantage. The more beautiful the Breken woman was, the more dangerous she could be.

  He looked back at his watery reflection. How could she want to be his friend? She was probably just saying what she thought he wanted to hear. She was probably just feigning friendship until she had what she wanted from him. Her brother was important to her. She would likely say or do anything to get him back.

  But she seemed so sincere.

  Just the fact she cared so much for her brother proved these people were different. Maybe she really did want to be his friend. Maybe she did care about him just a little.

  The brown eyes staring back at him from the water’s surface seemed to doubt it. He was Breken. She couldn’t possibly care for him. He reached his hand out again and angrily swatted the water, banishing his image from its surface.

  ***

  It wasn’t long before they picked up the she-wolf’s trail. The blood of the ewe was no longer visible, but there were prints on this side of the stream and little tufts of hair that could only have come from the dark grey wolf they followed.

  After only a couple of hours on the trail, Dearra heard unsuppressed growls coming from behind a grouping of rocks. Dearra froze, and motioned for Darius to stay back.

  He glowered at her and shook his head emphatically.

  She held Brin up and waved a dismissive hand at Darius, reminding him of his lack of a weapon.

  He scowled more deeply, but held his position and watched her approach the source of the growls.

  Dearra
peered around a giant rock and saw the wolf before her, its nose buried in the side of the sheep carcass. She wondered why the wolf would bother to haul the kill all the way back here to feed when she could have stopped anywhere along the way to enjoy her meal.

  The wolf was oblivious to anything around her as she sank her teeth back into the sheep. Dearra darted from behind the rock and caught the unsuspecting creature completely off guard. Brin whistled through the air, and in only a moment it was over.

  The wolf lay dead at her feet. Dearra stood over the once proud animal, and though this animal had been a danger to her people, for a moment she felt pity at the loss. Any wolf who would come in so close to people, and not even in the dead of winter when the need was greatest had to be stopped. And this particular wolf had already attacked once before when it had struck at the child, Devon. Still, though Dearra had done the right thing, she felt no sense of pride over the deed.

  Dearra! Behind you! Brin’s voice sounded like an explosion in her mind, and she spun to see the form of an even larger male wolf, flying through the air toward her throat.

  There was no time even to lift an arm in defense, but just as the wolf was about to make contact, a second blur appeared out of the corner of her eye. Dearra saw Darius crash into the savage male wolf. The sound of snarls and vicious growls curdled her blood. She watched the warrior battle, bare handed, against the snapping jaws of his foe. She wanted to help, but with Darius and the wolf intertwined in such close combat, there was no way to know where her sword would land.

  Then, suddenly as it had started, Darius snapped the wolf’s neck with one mighty twist of his hands, and it lay dead on the ground.

  Dearra expected to see fear in his eyes, but when she looked upon him, a smile lit his face. “You’re smiling?” she said in shocked wonder.

  The smile slipped a bit when he looked to the wolf at his feet. “Don’t look at me like that. I take no joy in killing the animal, Dearra, but he was enraged by the death of his mate, and there was no reasoning with him and—”

  “And what,” she demanded.

  “You have no idea how useless I felt. Your father may as well have cut off my arm when he took my sword from me. I am a warrior, Dearra. It’s all I know.”

  Those were feelings she could understand. Her whole identity was tied to her training and fighting that she agreed it would be like losing a limb to have that part of herself taken away. As far as taking on a full-grown wolf with nothing but his hands? Well…hadn’t she done a few stupid things without thinking herself? She’d actually done quite a few, if she were to be truthful. And if what he said was true, if the wolf had really seen her kill its mate and had been enraged, well then, what choice did he have? She would be dead right now if it hadn’t been for his reckless attack on the male wolf. She didn’t really think about wolves having feelings much less rage, but…“Wait. What do you mean he was enraged over the death of his mate? How would you know it was his mate, or that he felt rage over her death?”

  “That’s my ability,” he told her, as if this fact should have been obvious. “I thought you knew. I thought Br—”

  “What! You mean you can talk to animals!” she said.

  “Well, no, not exactly. I can sort of hear their thoughts, the more intelligent the animal, the clearer the thoughts. And sometimes, if the animal is quite intelligent, they can read me as well.”

  Humph, Brin said, annoyed, but Dearra was in no mood to guess at the source of her sword’s displeasure.

  “Wow! Darius, I…I don’t know what to say.”

  “I know, it’s not very impressive. You should have seen my father when he found out this was all I could do.” Another grin split his face at the memory.

  “No, I mean…what I mean is…that’s really incredible, Darius! I think it’s…I think it’s…wonderful!”

  The admiration shining from her gaze was no illusion. Darius felt a tickle of satisfaction at her words. “Really, Dearra? My kin all considered it to be a completely useless skill.”

  “Since I am standing here, alive instead of lying dead next to the she-wolf, I can say I find it a very useful gift.”

  Darius’s smile grew wider, but his eyes narrowed when he noticed their shadows on the ground. “I really think we should be heading back now, Dearra.”

  She noticed the angle of the sun, and realized, for the first time, how long they had been away. “I think you’re right.”

  She was about to walk away when Darius stopped and said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” and he trotted about fifty yards away and disappeared over a hill.

  Dearra couldn’t imagine what he was doing, and when he didn’t immediately return, she started to get anxious. She was about to follow in his direction when he came jogging back over the same hill, and her curiosity was piqued. When he came closer she could see he was carrying what looked like a small pile of white fluff. When he came close enough to touch, Darius held out a tiny, solid white, wolf puppy for her examination. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding!” she said.

  “He was frightened, Dearra. I couldn’t just leave him there. He’s only a pup, after all.” Darius wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her grumble something about soft-hearted Breken with even softer heads as she stormed away from him, heading in the direction of home. Darius tucked the quaking bundle inside his shirt and turned to follow the peevish Dearra.

  They hadn’t gone far before Dearra felt the burning in her hand intensify. Until then, the adrenaline had probably masked the pain, but now that the fight was over, she was feeling it tenfold. She made a lame excuse to Darius about needing a moment of privacy, and doubled back the way they had come to use the spring to bathe her wound.

  Darius set the tiny pup on the ground and watched as he scampered off into the leaves. He knew the pup wouldn’t go far; he trusted Darius not to hurt him, could sense Darius offered safety. If any trouble threatened the puppy, he would make with all speed back to his new protector.

  Darius leaned casually against a solid tree and listened to the stillness of the woods mulling over the events of the last three days. Had his mind not been wandering, he would have noticed the strange stillness sooner. As it was, he had only an instant for the silence to alert him to danger before he felt the sharp knife at his throat.

  “You have one chance to tell me where my daughter’s body lies before I slice the flesh from you,” Hugh said, his voice ragged in Darius’s ear. As if to emphasize his point, the blade made a slow, shallow slice down the outside of Darius’s neck.

  “I’m not sure what you think Lord,” Darius said, his voice steady, “but there’s been a misunderstanding. Your daughter is quite safe.”

  Hugh stepped in front of Darius, without removing the blade from his neck. “Liar.” He spat the word, and with his free hand, grasped Darius by the front of his blood-soaked shirt, lifting it as evidence. “I suppose you cut yourself shaving, then?”

  “Breken don’t grow beards.”

  A sharp crack to Darius’s skull as the hilt of Daniel’s blade made contact with his head was indication his sense of humor was totally unappreciated. Darius slumped to the ground, surrounded by six burly warriors who stood with swords drawn around the stunned Breken.

  Hugh rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, pulled a second knife from his boot, and stepped forward to make good on his promise.

  A yipping noise sounded, distracting Hugh for a moment, and he watched with dropped jaw as a snow white wolf pup bounced onto Darius’s chest and began licking at his face.

  “What in the name of Cyrus?” was all Hugh could manage. He barely had time enough to let the strange sight sink in before his ears picked up the frantic voice of his daughter growing louder as it neared.

  “Father! No!” Dearra ran with all the speed she possessed. “Father, stop!” She wasn’t exactly sure what had been going on, but her absence, along with Darius’s bloody appearance, gave her a pretty good idea of her father’s train of thought. She rushed head long into
the startled group of men and threw herself into her father’s arms.

  “Oh, Dearra,” Hugh said, clutching his daughter close. When he’d had enough of the hug, he thrust her away from him abruptly, and shouted, “Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

  “I’m sorry, Father! It was all my fault. Truly! It was the lynx, from my sixth year all over again. I saw the wolf attacking our sheep, and I had to kill it, I just had to! Darius tried to stop me, but you know how stubborn I can be.” Dearra’s eyes pleaded with her father for understanding. Hugh’s opinion of her meant more than anyone’s, and the thought that she had angered or disappointed him was like a weight on her heart.

  Hugh knew she was sorry. She was his daughter; she had inherited his strong will from him. He couldn’t bring himself to stay mad any longer, and he said in a gentler tone, “Well, as long as you’re all right. We can talk about it when we get home.” He lifted Dearra’s hand in his own and for the first time noticed the wicked gash. “What happened to your hand?”

  Dearra had forgotten the terrible pain and the frightening red line creeping up her arm until her father mentioned it. She looked into her father’s careworn face and responded, “Oh, that. It’s nothing, really.” That was all she was able to get out before she collapsed, unconscious, into her father’s arms.

  Chapter 14

  Darius carried Dearra the entire way back to the keep, claiming he’d had a full night’s rest and was, therefore, more able to bear the burden. The situation was almost intolerable for Hugh. It was his daughter, after all, but as they had treated Darius so unfairly, Hugh swallowed his pride and his fatherly protectiveness, and let Darius have his way.

  When they finally arrived at Maj Keep, Darius refused to relinquish Dearra, heading, instead, straight for the stairs that led to her room, where he kicked her door open with his booted foot, and laid her gently on the bed. He watched her toss and thrash, her body trembling with fever, while a flurry of activity filled the room.