Page 3 of On Wings of Blood

He lowered his mouth to my neck again, and I shouted, raising my hands to push him away as I saw the glint of sharp teeth.

“Get off her,” the other man–the lord–growled. His voice was predatory, threatening. I struggled to get a sense of how old he was. Younger than Barnabas, I thought. “Not a taste. Not another sniff. That’s an order. Bring her to me. Now.”

Barnabas whined so quietly only I could hear, like a dog fighting against its master’s chain.

“Just a small taste. Just a little taste, pretty one,” he whispered. “You smell so good. Better than anything I’ve ever had. When he has you, he won’t let you go. I’ll never get another chance at you again.”

His lips parted and two sharp canine teeth appeared, sharp and elongated. Larger than I had ever seen on a man–or a woman, for that matter. He barred them like a wolf might do with fangs and began to lower his face to my neck.

Panic surged. I flailed, lifting my arms up to hit him. He shocked me with his speed and strength, forcing my arms back down almost instantly.

I was weaker than I’d been. From my arrival or the ordeal that preceded it, I wasn’t sure which.

I kept struggling against him and felt his frustration as he tried to keep me pinned.

His face loomed over my neck. His teeth were so close. I shut my eyes, my entire body tensing for the inevitable attack.

Instead, there was a soft crunching sound.

I felt a wetness on my face and opened my eyes.

Barnabas’s body was still on top of me. But his head was gone.

Letting out a gasp of horror, I sat up and shoved his corpse off me, glancing to the side to see his decapitated head rolling down the mound of bodies, a bolt embedded in his skull.

I wiped my arm across my face, trying to clean off the vermin’s blood.

Which was when I realized I was very inconveniently naked.

“Get up. Come down here.”

I gritted my teeth. It seemed I was about to exchange one captor for another. And this one didn’t sound the sniveling sort.

“I’d much rather prefer to stay here,” I called. “Be on your way. I require no aid.”

There was silence for a moment. Then I heard a burst of voices. The man was not alone. My words had evidently shocked the group of people who surrounded him.

“Silence.” The voices below fell silent. “It was not a request,” the voice came again. “But if you decline to do my bidding for a second time, I’ll gladly have one of my men carry you down.”

I rose slowly to my feet and heard gasps from below, whether at the sight of Barnabas’s blood dripping down me or the shock of a woman’s naked flesh–who can say. They were mostly men, so likely the latter.

I lifted my hand to shield my eyes from the hazy sun which had half-peeked out from behind the clouds. Focusing my eyes, I saw a line of soldiers–some standing, others on horseback. All wore a distinctive style of red and black armor.

A man sat at the front on a black steed. He held a crossbow in his hands. I eyed the weapon with interest. It must have been a powerful bow indeed to decapitate with a single shot.

Then I looked up at the man’s face and all thoughts of the bow left my mind.

He was striking. All sharp angles and pale skin. Lethal and alluring.

He was also much younger than I’d expected. Closer to my own age.

This man had saved my life. Killed one of his own men to protect me.

But as I saw the arrogant expression painting his handsome features, the cruel twist of his thin lips, I felt no gratitude.

Golden-blond hair framed a sharp jawline. He had a lean, elegant build, all muscular grace. Nevertheless, there was something about him that made me think he had been a frail and skinny boy once.

One of his features stood out from the others. His aquiline, hawkish nose. It was out of place. Too pointed, too large. Too less-than-perfect. But if anything, it made him look even more aristocratic, enhancing his haughty expression. It complemented the fine angles of his cheekbones and jaw and added to his wolfish air.

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