Prologue: A Promise
Sadness and fear tightened the blonde woman’s throat as she
reached for the handle of the teardrop-shaped iron brand.
The glowing orange-and-yellow metal lifted from the fire
and scorched the air over the squalling newborn. She took
one selfish moment to loosen his diaper cloth and caress
his soft, smooth skin.
“A gift, my son, heir to a world of pain and trouble but
also of joy and sweetness. A gift of protection, of
guardianship, of love never-ending. You shall never be
alone. This is your mother’s first, last and most binding
promise.”
The tiny mewl went from fussy to agonized when the bright
tip touched his flesh. His scream ripped through her crying
heart but she spared no time for sympathy, turning instead
to the pestle beside the cradle. Her shaky fingers rubbed
the dried potion into the oozing wound, eliciting a harsher
screech. When the herbs blended with blood to stain the
weeping burn, she summoned the fleeting edges of her
strength and raised her trembling arms upward.
“Ancient magic of the earth, come now in this hour of birth.
Protect my child from evil’s hand, a guardian with him
always stand.
Protection with sharp teeth and claw, dwell within the mark
so raw.
Hear my words cast forth this night: protect my child with
all love’s might.”
Ghost-like wind howled then roared, and rain pelted the
wooden shutters with a frenzied power. Hiccupped cries
filled her ears and she ached to embrace her babe, but she
dared not. From flame-dancing shadows a mist grew, formed
and became a vaporous cloud of swirling lilac. Her eyes
followed its path until it hovered over the low infant bed.
“Come.” Her voice weakened and relief filled her
heart. “Heed my call.”
The lilac shimmer considered her with eyeless sight before
a sense of acceptance flavored the air. It swooped over the
cradle, lingered around the crying baby’s head and then
poured into his seeping blackened wound. When the last lick
of purple filled him, the child’s bleating ceased. Instead,
he hungrily sucked his fist.
She was found an hour later, a cold blood-pool between her
feet, her hand stretched into the cradle, fingers on the
cooing newborn. The bright shining eyes of the infant
seemed older than his hours as his father wailed and wept
with bitter loss.
Chapter One
Lust buzzed through Taric’s veins and he eagerly took the
barmaid’s mouth again. She was a golden beauty, a milk-
skinned damsel with breasts begging to be suckled. Half-
naked and hard, he bucked between her skirted but wide-
spread thighs. Her whimper penetrated the pounding of his
blood. Nipping the skin below her ear, he scraped his teeth
down her neck. Her hand traced up his spine. Against his
lips, her throat bobbed with his whispered name. His ass
hit the floor with a shocking jolt and a flash of red
streaked from behind him on feminine feet.
“Damn it, Myla!”
His angered cry died on his tongue when he saw the silvered
blade his magic guardian wrenched from the barmaid’s hand.
A knife that no doubt had been poised just above his back.
The knowledge momentarily paralyzed him but his protector
struggled with the strumpet on the bed. He leapt to his
feet as a feminine curse rang out and Myla was thrust back
against him. Without thought, his arms came around her to
prevent them both from crashing back to the stone floor.
The dark-haired guardian shoved his hands off and flew into
the now-upright maid with balled fists. A catfight of
deadly proportion lasted only a few seconds until the
blonde crumpled to the floor.
“Imprison her. She may have knowledge of who seeks your
death.” Panting softly, Myla did not face him. Taric threw
open the door and called to the guard. Myla stumbled and he
rushed to her side. Inches away, he stopped cold. She
clutched her belly, a deep crimson stain spreading rapidly
along her bright silk chiton. Her bloodied hands trembled
and she stared at them. Slowly, she raised her wide green
eyes to his. Fear as he had never known flooded his gut,
sending a chilled backwash of dread into his throat.
“You bleed?”
Her lips parted but no sound came. She slumped and he
caught her slight frame. A guard rushed in at that moment,
his eyes wide at the scene.
“Take that bitch to the cell and hold her.” His voice
thundering in royal command, Taric stepped over the slumped
woman, gently laid his precious burden on the rumpled
sheets and knelt before the bed. The guard removed the
blonde, dragging her by one bare arm.
Taric stroked the frigid cheeks of his guardian. Smoothing
the chestnut hair from her temple, he silently prayed,
although he wasn’t sure for what. For help? For guidance?
It seemed a waste. Myla was all those things to him and
more. “Tell me. What do you need?”
“I need you, Taric. The wound is mortal but I am not. I
must return to you to heal, to sleep, be reborn.”
Shuddering in fright, he nodded as if he understood. He
didn’t but trusted she knew what was best. Myla was his
constant companion even if he went for months or longer
without seeing her. She lived within him. For so long, she
had appeared when he was in danger and he had never seen
her injured. No matter the foe or how deadly the threat,
Myla fought with a warrior’s skill and a dancer’s grace.
That she could be hurt had never entered his mind. Now,
faced with the very real possibility of her death, he
swallowed emotions that had no name but tasted of burnt
meat. “Return then.”
“I can not.” Cat-green eyes slid closed sluggishly and he
could tell she had to force them wide once more. “You must
do it, Taric. Call me to you. Let me use your strength to
become as I was created. Call me to your side so I may
heal.”
“I—I can do that? I didn’t know.”
Lips of ripe pomegranate curved in a gentle smile. “Yes. I
obey when you call. Call me now. The room grows dim and I
have no time to waste.” Before his mouth could speak, she
clutched his arm with an unsteady grasp, her formal speech
unaffected by her injury. “I ask one favor. Do not leave
these walls this night. Since the hour of your birth, I
have kept charge over you but tonight I must stand down.
Promise you will stay here in this chamber with none for
company save the most trusted of your allies. Please,
Taric. Ease me in this so I may heal without guilt.”
“I won’t leave the bedchamber, I swear it.” He lifted her
cold fingers to his lips before he thought better and
pressed a soft kiss to a bloody knuckle. “How’ll I know if
you’ve recovered? I have to know you’re safe, Myla. I have
to.”
“Tomorrow…after sundown, call for me. I will come, if only
to ease your mind.”
“I can call for you? Why haven’t you ever told me this?”
“There has never been a need. Please, Taric…” Her voice was
a fading whisper.
“Return now, Myla, my guardian. Return to me and find a
healing sleep.”
On a sigh, her form faded to lilac mist and drifted
straight to his side. The teardrop-shaped burn he’d always
carried seared at her re-entry but he relished the ache.
His callused palm slapped against the mark, holding it as
though it might give her comfort. The stench of sweat, sex
and blood from the twisted linens in front of him churned
his stomach and he ripped them from the mattress with a
growl. Pitching them to the hall, he told a passing servant
to find and send Bryton to him before slamming the door.
Taric threw his body into a plush chair beside the hearth,
his hand straying once more to his guardian mark. Myla can
bleed? The thought was so ghastly foreign to him, his brain
shuddered. He’d never known life without her and couldn’t
imagine it now.
The door creaked open without invitation and he focused on
the long, shockingly bright copper hair of his captain and
best friend. Bryton’s hair was almost too pretty for a man
and Taric loved to tease him about it, but women flocked to
him, finding any excuse under the moon to run their fingers
through it. Bryton claimed it was his duty to keep the
feminine stalkers at bay and therefore his hair was not a
vanity but a defense mechanism. He was full of bullshit but
Taric loved him like a brother.
Bryton glanced around the now-empty room before he looked
at Taric. His deep blue eyes went wide. “Shit! What
happened to you?”
A frown pulled at his mouth but Taric suddenly felt the
stickiness on his torso and glanced down. He was coated
from mid-chest to crotch in blood. Snapping out of the
chair, he hurried to the wash basin, eager to rinse the
evidence of Myla’s mortality from his skin. The water was
tepid but the strong soap did its job, filling the cloth
with harsh bubbles that stripped the red from his skin. A
swipe over his teardrop scar produced a tiny blood smear
and he swiped it once more. It seeped bright drops in slow
dots but he had no pain. Not his blood, but Myla’s then.
The warm room did nothing to stall his shiver of fear.
“It’s not my blood, although I nearly got a knife in the
back from a large-busted would-be killer. She’s down in the
cell, waiting for you. Find out who sent her.”
Bryton, now assured his prince wasn’t near death, settled
into a chair and crossed his long legs at the ankle. A
devious smirk lifted his lip. “I heard you had two women in
here and that one was dragged out unconscious. The entire
castle is buzzing with the tale already. Two, Taric? Was
one paid piece of ass not enough for you?”
Taric threw the sopping cloth at his head. “One, Bry, one.
Myla showed up. She got hurt trying to protect me.”
“Myla?” Bryton squeaked, going pale. “Myla was here? Your—
your guardian?”
“Yeah.” Taric stripped off his blood-soaked trousers and
pulled on a soft pair of fawn cotton leggings. “She bled,
Bry. She got hurt. I didn’t know that could happen.”
“Uhm, how can she bleed?” Bryton swallowed hard. Talking
about a mythical guardian he had never seen made him
uncomfortable, so Taric rarely mentioned her around his
friend. “I mean, she’s not real, right? She’s just a spell
of some sort.”
“Well, her blood was certainly real enough!” Taric snapped.
His large hands held up in surrender, Bryton diffused the
angry mood. “Calm down, I’m just talking, thinking out
loud. Did you call for a healer?”
“No. She just wanted to return to me. Tomorrow she said
she’d appear, healed again.”
“Tomorrow? She’s going to just…pop out?”
Taric arched his brow and settled back into his
chair. “Yes, Bry, she’s going to ‘pop out’ and let me know
she’s okay. I need to know.”
“Can I meet her? I mean, come on, I’ve known you since
forever and I’ve never met her. I wouldn’t even believe you
except, well, I’m not sure why I do believe you but I do.”
Eager now, he sat forward with his face glowing. “You say
she’s beautiful but fierce. Let me meet her.”
“You’ve seen her, at least a form of her.”
“When?”
A deep chuckle grew from his belly. Devilment tinged his
words. “Don’t you remember the wolf when we were hunting as
boys?”
Bryton quaked exaggeratedly. “Of course I remember. That
was the last time I pissed my pants in fear. I thought we
were wolf food for sure until that jaguar appeared out of
nowhere.” The younger man stopped and stared at Taric with
widened eyes. “The cat? That was Myla?”
“One version of her. I’ve only seen the woman and the cat.
I don’t know if she can take other forms.” Deep in thought,
Taric absently rubbed his scar, which was still weeping
blood. He felt no different now that Myla had returned
inside him. He never had been able to tell there was
another living being within him. And he had no doubt that
she was a living being. Her blood convinced him of that.
“Actually, I know very little about Myla. Strange, I’ve
depended on her from my birth and I don’t know anything
about her. I didn’t even know I had the power to call her
out. Tomorrow, I’m going to try to talk to her, just get
some answers. Every single time I’ve seen her, it’s been
because she’s helped me. This will be the first time in my
life I can just speak with her.”
“I want to meet her,” Bryton insisted.
“If she allows it, I’ll send for you.” The grin slipped
from his lips. “First, go down to the cell and find out
from that bitch who paid her. I want to know who’s plotting
against me inside my own land.”
“She’s a woman. How far do you want me to allow the
questioning to go?”
Head bowed, feeling the weight of an invisible crown, Taric
sighed. Damn, I hate this bloody war. “Do what you must.
Just…she may be a whore, Bry, but leave her her dignity.
Make the men keep their pants on. I’ll not have the raping
of prisoners added to my legacy.”
“Some of the techniques are harsh. She might not be so
pretty when she’s allowed to leave.”
“War’s a bitch, my friend. She had a knife at my back.
There’ll be no leaving the castle for her.”
“You’d have me put a woman to death?” The question was so
softly spoken, Taric knew his friend was testing him. Only
a close advisor would dare.
He looked deep into sky blue and firmed his jaw. “And if I
said yes?”
Bryton tongued his cheek but inclined his head. “You order,
I obey, but I don’t have to like it.”
“It’s the law.” Burying his head in his hands, he sighed
loudly. “I don’t know. Just…get out of her what you can for
now. I’ll have to think about this. The law is clear but it
was never written with a woman in mind.”
“Male or female, she did try to assassinate the Crowned
Prince of Eldwyn. You can’t be too lenient. Times like this
either make or break a reputation, Tar. You don’t want to
be seen as soft.”
“Bryton, go do your damned job and leave me alone. I’m in
no mood to play royal politics with you.” Wearily, he ran
his hands over his face, rubbing at gritty eyes. “Look,
I’ve been nearly screwed, stabbed and had my magical
guardian almost die in the past thirty minutes. I really
don’t feel like playing the good little prince right now.”
A friendly and steady hand clamped on his bare shoulder
before the door closed with a soft bang. He felt some calm
settle when the palm straying once more to his scar came
away clean. No more blood oozed from the long-closed wound.
Perhaps Myla was already healing. Or she’s dead.
Taric bolted upright and stalked to the door while chugging
back the fear which cascaded over him. Fingers reaching for
the handle, he stopped. He’d promised Myla he would not
leave the chamber until she came to him again. As prince
his word was law but as a man his promise was his honor and
he wouldn’t break the vow. Spine straight, he flung the
door open and asked the first person he saw to send a maid
with fresh linens.
Within minutes the bed was redressed and he snuffed the
candles. The night was too warm for a fire so he stood in
shadows with only the pale light of a sickle moon streaming
in the open window. Leaning against the stone frame, he
soaked in the shaded mountain vista, drawing mostly from
memory. The deep purple twilight slipped to ink and
caressed the faraway hills he’d hunted in all his life. He
knew each dell and vale like his own palm and would defend
them with his last breath. His homeland was secured by
nature as well as by might, sitting in a green valley
ringed by a ridge of beautiful slopes and crags.
In this land, peace had always permeated his soul, no
matter how bloody the battle. But now, now he worried. Was
his sanctuary to be endangered even on his native soil? Was
everything he knew to be threatened? Disquiet rumbled in
his mind like a hungry bear and he thrust away from the
window, away from his fears.
He crawled onto the bed with a long sigh. He hadn’t gone to
bed this early since he’d grown whiskers. Although in bed,
he did not sleep. He fingered the scar, tracing the tear
over and over in a rhythmic flow, and his thoughts filled
with Myla…of Myla and her presence in his life.
He didn’t often think of her. She simply was. He had no
memory of a time when he hadn’t known the battle-ready
beauty. She hadn’t changed or aged, always wearing the same
cherry silk chiton, her hair pulled back in gold combs and
left to stream down her back in ripples of mahogany. Like
the fire she was born from and the warrior passion in her
spirit, the exotic red silk embodied her power and her
strength. The hue it leant her lips was something he had
overlooked until tonight. Just like he’d never noticed how
it offset her dark hair and made it shimmer like moonlight
on a night-darkened river. He’d known his guardian was a
woman, a beautiful one, but he’d never felt drawn to her as
a man.
Slender as a water lily, the strength in her muscles belied
by feminine curves, she was not the fearsome bodyguards his
father possessed. King Balic preferred beefy warriors with
strategic training and hardened eyes. Myla’s eyes kept
their cat shape and color even in human form.
Human. A flash of her blood-stained hands manifested before
his eyes and he blinked it away. How could Myla bleed? Was
she really human when apart from him? Could she die?