Tareek huffed. Aye, without a doubt. She represented a huge problem.
For him as well as Henrik.
The Druinguari wouldn’t quit. Were even now sniffing around the edge of the Limwoods, tracking, hunting, searching for the best way to bring them down. How did he know? His sonar kept pinging—bringing back traces of magic, gauging distances, assessing the danger. Even from deep inside the enchanted forest, tendrils of black magic teased, making his skin crawl and his dragon senses scream.
All of which pointed to one inescapable truth. Her close proximity would distract his friend. Not good. Or anywhere near advisable. With the battle lines drawn and war coming, no mistakes could be made. He needed Henrik focused and battle ready, not distracted by a redheaded dove with a pretty face and a curvy body.
Dropping his hand, Tareek tipped his chin. “Picked up a passenger, I see.”
“’Tisn’t what you think.”
“Really.” He raised a brow. “Where have I heard that before?”
A muscle twitched along Henrik’s jaw. “I couldn’t leave her there. She—”
“Of course you couldn’t.” Made perfect sense. When, after all, had Henrik ever been able to deny a female anything?
“Is one of the Blessed.”
Tareek blinked. He frowned as the new detail sank in. “Confirmed?”
“Aye.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
One word. Big impact. Tareek sighed. No need to explain further.
Message received and accepted.
The female couldn’t be left behind. More’s the pity. Terrible, in fact.
Ditching her somewhere along the way would’ve made things easier in the long run. Particularly since true believers—those who served the Goddess of All Things—tended to be fanatics. But no matter his aversion to all things White Temple, Tareek refused to walk away. No way would he abandon his vow along with his principles. Henrik was right. She was too valuable, an asset to the goddess, a member of the Order both he and others had promised to protect. So only one thing left to do: mount up and get moving . . .
While he filled Henrik in on the way.
Dragging his focus from his friend, Tareek glanced at Andrei. Quick to react, the warrior tugged on the lead in his hand. Horse hooves cracked against the brittle leaves. Twin streams of air puffing from its nostrils, the enormous roan tossed his head and stepped forward. As the beast came abreast of him, Tareek murmured, reached out, and stroked his muzzle with a gentle hand. The second the roan accepted his touch, he took the reins and swung into the saddle.
Leather creaked. Tareek settled in, making himself at home. “I reached out to Garren.”
Shay glanced his way. “Is he en route with Xavian?”
“And the others.”
“Good. I have an idea of where Halál will try to intercept us. We’ll need the others to help set the trap and lure him in,” Henrik said, nudging his warhorse into a walk.
The forest reacted to the movement, rustling the underbrush and . . . Tareek flinched. Hristos, talk about eerie, and, well, mayhap the tiniest bit alluring too. The Limwoods might be a violent anomaly, but as the vines parted—opening to reveal a trail across the clearing, one that reached deep into the forest, showing Henrik the way—Tareek realized something important. As an enemy, the magical entity was a brutal force to be avoided at all costs, but as an ally? The possibilities became not only infinite, but interesting as well.
As though able to read his mind, Henrik met his gaze. “Impressive, isn’t she?”
Tareek frowned. Impressive? Well that was one way of looking at it. Terrifying might be another. “She?”
“Thea,” Kazim said, a hint of awe in his tone. “Beautiful creature.”
“Yet to be determined,” Tareek said, clinging to prejudice.
A good grudge, after all, never went out of style. Neither did caution. Both kept a male alive longer. But as Henrik galloped onto the trail, disappearing into shadowed recesses of the forest, Tareek followed in his wake. No sense being a pansy about it. Or denying his curiosity now that he was on the ground. He wanted to know more about the Limwoods. Press up against her boundaries and see where it led him. Had the forest truly accepted them or was she playing a game of wait and see? Would she allow them to leave when the time came or imprison them instead? Forever friend or cunning foe? All excellent questions, ones that needed to be explored and answered . . . in a hurry. Otherwise he and his comrades wouldn’t make it out of the Limwoods alive.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Blood rushing in her ears, Nairobi sped past the garden’s T-shaped wading pool. Iced over, skiffs of snow gathered along its edges as the slap of her footfalls echoed out to reach the fountain at its center. Devoid of water, bare-breasted mermaids stood frozen in time, unable to lure sailors to their doom without the usual sea of blue surrounding them. She scowled at the marble statues on the way by.
Stupid Persian design.
Beautiful, symmetrical, annoying mess. At least, right now. The fountain along with the garden layout provided almost no cover. No hedgerows or high walls in the middle. Just colorful mosaic tiles on wide pathways and barren flowerbeds set in geometric patterns. Not even the multitude of trees helped. Planted at equal intervals next to the outer wall, the tall, thin cypress threw little shadow, leaving her exposed as the moon bathed the garden in winter-borne light.
Stars above, she was in trouble.
One false move, a touch of bad luck, and she’d be done. Lost to circumstance and consequence. Panic clogged her throat. Sucking in a desperate breath, feet flying over slippery stone, she descended the shallow steps next to the sunken pool. The heavy satchel she carried bounced against her lower back, throwing her off-balance. As she stumbled forward, fighting to stay upright, moonlight mocked her, growing brighter by the moment. A figment of her overstimulated senses? Pure imagination? Fear-induced paranoia? Nairobi didn’t know, but . . .
Call her foolhardy and be done with it.
She should’ve taken the clear sky into account while planning her escape. A cloudy night would’ve lessened the risk and increased her chances of reaching the iron gate at the far end of the first courtyard. Not that it mattered now. ’Twas far too late to lament her lack of foresight. She was neck-deep in it. No room for doubt. Little chance of going back either.
Nairobi glanced over her shoulder anyway. The former palace turned silk house loomed large behind her. Arabic archways and dark windows stared out from behind a wide balcony. So far, so good. No one stood watching her flight. Which meant Adam had yet to discover her missing from the weaving room.
Making a tight turn, she skirted a star-shaped flowerbed. Her conscience panged. Silly to feel bad. Ridiculous to allow guilt to win. She had naught to feel contrite about and even less choice. Freedom didn’t exist in the grey areas. It lived in black and white; a person either possessed it or not. And yet, even knowing no other recourse remained, remorse found a home inside her heart. The guard didn’t deserve what she was about to give him—derision, punishment, or worse from the owner of the silk house.
A nasty outcome. One no one in his right mind wanted to face, never mind endure.
Her sense of fair play nudged her. Regret dug its claws in, cutting through, elevating her self-reproach to new levels. An ache bloomed behind her breastbone. Nairobi ignored it, and arms pumping, sprinted toward freedom. It stood just ahead, a quick jump and hard climb up the garden gate. Designed to keep others out, and the weavers in, ’twas a thing of beauty, intricate ironwork melding into immaculate design. The result? Impenetrable twin panels that ascended twelve feet, falling just shy of the outer wall’s upper lip. Anxiety made her heart pound harder. Climbing in icy conditions would be challenging—no question. But the true worry lay at the top of the gate. Steel thorns crowned the crosspiece, ruling with timeless efficiency, setting the tone as each spike lorded over the entrance.