Relief poured through Vixen as Kalen stepped back, still hyped up from the fight and dancing lightly on his feet as he grinned down at the defeated pixie on the floor. Elation filled her. What a typical move. She’d always known Kalen was unconventional, but who said first blood had to be caused by a blade?

“That’s how it’s done!” he grinned, turning to look at the warden to get her confirmation that the bout was over. She nodded, a smile spreading over her face.

She saw the movement as Markus rose to his feet. She couldn’t see his face, but there was something about the way he moved, and the set of his shoulders, that set off alarm bells in her head.

She moved within thinking, screaming a warning to Kalen as Markus lunged for his dropped blade. Kalen turned, but there was no way he could block in time. Barely aware of her actions, she dropped her pixie guard in a lethal explosion of movement. Fear lent wings to her heels as she launched herself across the circle. Time slowed as she moved.

Shock and horror crossed the faces of the watching kyn warriors, their faces contorting as they yelled warnings she couldn’t hear past the thunder in her ears. Kalen already had his blades half out of their sheaths when she hit him from the side. A solid body slam, it threw him off balance and out of harm’s way. All the air left her lungs in a rush as Markus slammed into her, the sword he carried piercing the skin of her belly and sliding in deep with a fleshy sound.

She looked down, watching with absent fascination as thick red blood oozed around the edges of the metal buried in her flesh. It didn’t hurt. It should hurt, but it didn’t. There was just an aching numbness spreading outward from the wound. A coldness as the curse on the spelled blade devoured her soul.

Markus froze, his lavender eyes wide as he looked down at his hand. And the sword in it, following the path of the steel until it disappeared into her abdomen. She shook her head. It didn’t matter what happened to her. She’d saved Kalen.

The knowledge spread out from her heart in unstoppable waves. She loved him. She loved Kalen. She always had and always would. And now he would live, thanks to her. A burning pain around her wrist made her look down and smile.

“No,” Markus breathed, his voice shaky, “it wasn’t supposed to be you. It was supposed to be him.”

“Oh god. Vixen, no.” Kalen’s voice was ragged, a tormented moan dragged from deep within his broad chest. He wrapped his arms around her as she staggered. She sagged against him as her legs buckled at the knees. Unable to support her weight, they gave way beneath her. She gasped at the change in position as he lowered them both to the floor. Her hands tightened convulsively around the weapon buried deeply in her stomach as the kyn gathered around them.

“Someone grab that son of a bitch pixie,” Marak growled, his eyes filled with a fury that softened into concern as he looked down at her. It was an order most warriors seemed happy to follow. Several set off after the fleeing pixie, their expressions grim, as if promising a world of hurt when they caught him.

She grabbed Kalen’s hand. “Please, don’t leave me,” she begged, her voice a whisper as exhaustion hit, scared he’d join the hunt for Markus and she wouldn’t last until he got back. Already, she felt the cold fingers of death clawing at her, leeching the very life, her very soul, from her. She was so cold, so sleepy. If she just shut her eyes for a moment…

Alarmed, she jerked her eyes open. If she closed them and succumbed to the tiredness that washed over her, she was done for. She knew that.

“Promise you won’t leave me,” she whispered again, her eyes searching, finding Kalen’s face. It was filled with concern and emotion. Perhaps even love? “I don’t have much time. I can feel it spreading already.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” His voice was thick as he held her in his lap and wrapped his arms around her tightly. So tightly, under different circumstances, she’d have complained he was hurting her. Now, she barely felt it as her body grew numb. She nodded, cherishing the feeling of being held, closing her eyes for a moment as his hand smoothed her hair gently back from her face.

“Kalen?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you.”

She opened her eyes to judge his reaction. Pain crossed his face, an expression gone almost before she’d seen it. She knew her chances weren’t good, but that look confirmed it. Peace stole over her. She’d always known she would die and had assumed it would be at the hands of the rogues like so many other warriors. A painful and ignoble death. At least this way it was peaceful, and she got to tell the man she loved that she did love him. She could say goodbye. So many warriors didn’t get to, so she felt blessed.

He smiled, lifting her hand to kiss the soft skin of her palm. “Save your strength, sweetheart,” he whispered back. “Tell me later when you’re better.”

“Kalen, I’m not going to get better. I’m going to die,” she said bluntly, the two of them locked in their own private world, not paying any attention to the crowd around them. “I just wanted you to know before…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it again. She just trailed off and looked at him.

“Know what, sweetheart? That you love me?” he asked, his lips curving into that lopsided grin she’d fallen for as soon as she’d met him. “Of course you do. What woman wouldn’t?” he joked, his expression dropping serious as he added, “I know. I love you too, sweetheart, always have. Why do you think I was always taking the piss? To get you to notice me, talk to me. That, and you’re gorgeous when you’re mad.”

She managed a chuckle. The movement caused a coughing fit, the spasms robbing her of breath and leaving her in pain for long moments after it subsided.

“I should have guessed. Only you would piss someone off because you fancied them. But I didn’t mean that.”

“Fancied the pants off actually,” he corrected. “What did you mean?”

She smiled sadly and held out her wrist for him to see. Or rather, so he saw the new mark there that curled lovingly around the delicate skin. He stilled, his eyes widening a little, a stunned expression entering them as he studied the mark on her skin. “That’s a bond mark.”

Her lips quirked. “Way to go, Captain Obvious. It appeared earlier when I realized how I felt about you.”

His arms tightened around her, a low moan in the back of his throat. “Oh hell, Vixen.”

“It’s okay,” she said, trying for soothing but managing tired. She closed her eyes, another wave of exhaustion washing through her and stealing the strength she had left. She couldn’t muster the strength to lift her eyelids again, dropping farther into the blackness that washed up to claim her. Her own voice seemed farther and farther away.

“It’s better this way. I’m not good… enough for you.”

* * *

Kalen felt Vixen’s body relax against his. He was losing her. A moan of anguish escaped him as he clawed her to him and tried to shake her awake, bring her back to him.

“Sweetheart, wake up. Stay with me.” He didn’t care that tears flowed down his cheeks in rivulets. He couldn’t lose her, not now. Not like this.

“Please. You have to do something,” he begged, looking at the one person in the room who might be able to do something. The warden.

Her eyes looked grave as she knelt next to him, her hands already moving, hovering a few inches over Vixen’s fallen form. Her lips moved soundlessly in some sort of incantation as her eyes unfocused. He didn’t know what kind of incantation… hell, she could have been reciting her damn shopping list for all he cared. As long as it helped the woman he loved. Hope coiled in his chest as he watched her. He had to have faith. Wardens dealt in magic on a day-to-day basis, worked with it, knew more about it than anyone.

That hope was crushed when she shook her head, opening her eyes to look at him sadly. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand. “But it’s already started. The only way to try and stop it would be to offer another soul in place of Vixen’s. But even that might not work. It could take both.”

“Try it anyway,” another voice growled. “Use his.”

He looked up. Feral and another warrior frog-marched a struggling figure back into the hall, throwing Markus down on the floor in front of them.

“No. You can’t do that,” the pixie argued with terror in his eyes. “That’s cold-blooded murder.”

“What do you call that, if not murder?” the warden asked sternly, her voice echoing with the power of her calling as she motioned toward Vixen’s barely breathing form. Before he could answer she shook her head. “Much as I think he deserves it, it would be murder and I can’t do that. Not even to save a life. It would only work with a willing soul.”

Feral smiled, a nasty little expression that sent chills up Kalen’s spine as he fingered the blades hooked onto his belt. “Five minutes and I guarantee he’ll be willing,” he promised.

“I’ll do it,” Kalen said quietly, his voice a bare whisper as he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss into Vixen’s blonde hair.

“I will not allow you to torture him. Not while I’m here… What did you just say?” the warden asked, catching the end of Kalen’s sentence. She held her hand up for silence as the room erupted around her, all the kyn trying to talk at once.

He looked up as silence fell again, resolve in his eyes. “I’ll do it,” he repeated, his eyes steadfast as they held hers.

“You do realize it’ll kill you?” she asked.

Something in her eyes was as old as time and he knew he spoke to a warden in her full power. Although she was still a young woman—she would be considered a child had she been kyn—but the power she channeled was ancient. It showed.

He nodded. “I do,” he said firmly, not flinching or looking away as he became the focus of intense interest from everyone in the room. He felt their eyes on him as they waited for the warden to speak again. But it wasn’t the warden who spoke next. Marak beat her to it.

“K, are you sure about this?” he asked, concern and worry coloring the deep timbres of his voice.

Kalen nodded again, looking up to meet his king’s gaze. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” he said, his voice echoing around the silent hall and conviction ringing in the words. “If she dies, I’ll meet the rogue tonight.”

The room stilled. “Meeting the rogue” was the ritualistic suicide of a warrior with nothing left to lose. If Vixen died, he would arm up for his last patrol and spend the night hunting rogue in their lairs until they overcame him. If by some slim chance he survived the night, he would wait for dawn, seeing his first sunrise at the same moment the sun’s rays killed him. He turned Vixen’s wrist out, displaying the bond mark against her paling skin. Already, she was as cold as the grave.

“I can’t live without her.”

Marak nodded silently, his silver eyes displaying his concern. He didn’t argue Kalen’s decision. Maybe because he had a bond-mate himself and lived with the fear of losing such a precious gift. Relief and gratitude filled the tall warrior as he turned his attention to the woman kneeling next to him and Vixen.

“Well, warden, will my soul be acceptable?” he asked. “Freely given as it is.”

She shrugged. “We can but hope. All I can do is perform the ritual and then it’s in the hands of the goddess. The decision rests with her.”

He sat quietly, rocking Vixen gently as the warden made arrangements around them. He whispered sweet nothings to the woman in his arms. Wasn’t hearing the last to go when someone died? He hoped so because if this all went south, the last thing he wanted Vixen to hear was his voice telling her all the things he couldn’t when she was alive.

Pain crossed his features. He was already thinking of her as dead. He wasn’t sure either of them would survive this. It wasn’t something he could fight, hit with his fists or a sword and kill, as he’d faced all the problems in his life. He felt lost, unsure of himself...

Opening his eyes, he watched as the warden drew a magic circle, her hands swift and sure as she traced the sigils in the air with the ease of long practice. He could just see the edges of them as she activated the circle, a brief flare of magic that faded quickly.

Then she stood over him, smiling softly with a serene expression on her face. “We’re ready for you now.”

She blinked as Kalen rose to his feet easily, despite the weight of Vixen in his arms. The movement startled a little chuckle out of her. “I always forget how strong you guys are.” She reached forward, her hands checking Vixen’s vital signs. “We have to move quickly. She’s fading fast. I need the blade removed before you enter the circle.”

He nodded. His first instinct had been to remove the blade, but experience with combat wounds had stopped him. They weren’t taught much about spelled blade injuries. The entire lecture on spelled weaponry had been short and sweet. Something like, “Don’t try to be a hero. Run the fuck away.” He hadn’t wanted to remove it, fearing Vixen bleeding out.

“I’m gonna need a little help here,” he admitted, finding Marak already at his side as he gently hefted Vixen’s weight in his arms, tucking her head into his shoulder. “Okay, now,” he murmured, holding her tightly as the other warrior’s large hand closed on the hilt of the blade, easing it from Vixen’s stomach. To his surprise, it slid out easily, with a fleshy sound that turned his stomach. He paled, feeling green.

“K, you’re not going to pass out on me, are you?” Marak asked, sounding concerned as he handed the blade off to the warden, his other hand already out to steady Kalen.

“Not a chance,” Kalen assured him, tightening his grip as he checked Vixen’s stomach for fresh bleeding. Her kyn physiology had already reacted to being wounded, slowing her heart rate down until the bleeding was nothing more than a sluggish oozing of blood from the gash in her stomach.

Nodding to the warden, he walked over to where they’d prepared the circle, waiting until she waved him through before stepping forward. Stepping into the magic circle, there was a slight shiver over his skin, as though someone had blown a soft breath over it.

He turned to face the warden as she settled herself cross-legged on the other side of the chalked border. Over her lap lay the spelled blade, now carefully wrapped in someone’s jacket, just the handle showing over her knee.

Mikal’s jacket. Kalen looked up and found the warrior right behind the warden, his face tight with worry. Kalen bit back a smile, noticing the other warrior’s protective manner with the petite woman.

“If we’re all ready, I’ll start,” the warden said softly, looking around once before she closed her eyes and chanted. Her voice, sweet and melodious, filled the chamber. The language she spoke wasn’t one he knew, but it resonated deep in his soul. Something within him recognized it as ancient. Power built in the room as she traced symbols in the air. Each flared mellow green—a green that made him think of nature and late summer nights. They hung in the air for a few moments before they faded from view, only visible for the first few seconds as she called them into existence.

The pressure within the circle built. He swallowed and wiggled his jaw from side to side to equalize his ears, but it didn’t work. The pressure built quickly into near pain and affected his vision. The edge of the circle shimmered in front of the warden as she chanted, like the haze in water when saltwater met fresh.

He watched as it spread, the forms of those outside the circle becoming indistinct as it raced around the chalked line until it surrounded them. He swallowed, looking up as it flowed overhead, sealing him and Vixen within. Without asking, he knew it went under the floor, a complete sphere of magic. The circle… sphere, whatever it was, snapped closed with a sonorous clang as though the world paused for a moment. Something was coming. He knew it, felt the expectation in the air.

There was a word, clear as a bell. A word of power, ancient and mystical. He had no idea what it was, but when the warden said it everything shimmered. It grew into a glare, making him squint and close his eyes.

When he opened them, the circle was gone, the hall was gone… everything was gone. He stood on a woodland path in broad daylight. Born kyn, it was a sight he’d never seen. He looked around in awe. The colors were so bright, so beautiful. His eyes wide, he spun around only realizing someone stood behind him when his gaze fell on a tall figure.

The warden. But not as he’d seen her before. The witching made up her armor-clad form, more an astral projection than a physical manifestation. The green of her magic shaped it and gave the witching form, weaving it to make up the armor and mail she wore, even woven through her long hair. In her hand, she held the spelled sword.

“Midnight,” the wind whispered in his ear as she moved, holding out her other hand. Cupped in her palm was a small ball of light. He stepped forward.

“Is that...?”

“All that remains of Vixen’s soul,” she said softly, her voice quiet but terrible. It held the baying of the hounds as they hunted, the howl of the wolf and the clash of metal as a thousand battles were joined and a thousand men died. No human sounded like that, no human should ever sound like that. His eyes narrowed in accusation.

“You’re not fully human.”

Her lips quirked slightly. “I never claimed to be,” she replied with a shrug. “Where do you think wardens get their power? As much as our elders like to deny it, our power doesn’t come from our human blood but humanity’s ability to breed with things that aren’t.”

She winked. “I guess my great-great-great grandmother got busy with something that went bump in the night. We don’t tend to focus on with what though...sounding the way I do, it doesn’t make for easy sleep.”

The comment and the self-deprecating look on her face startled a chuckle out of the tall warrior. “No, I guess not. I’ll admit, I certainly didn’t expect it. I’ll not look at a human quite the same way again, wondering what’s under that delicate exterior.”

“Mostly, just plain old mankind... sorry… humankind,” she corrected. “Sometimes, even wardens get a shock, though. Now, enough talk. You have a job to do. Here, take this.” She handed him the small orb of light. Already, it looked duller.

“It looks sick.”

The orb fit into the palm of his hand easily. As soon as he touched it, it pulsed weakly as if it recognized him, nestling against his skin as though even that effort had exhausted it.

“It is sick and quickly getting sicker. Soon there’ll be nothing left. You have to hurry,” she urged, turning him around and pointing along the path. His gaze followed it as it wound through the trees. Up ahead they petered out, and beyond them he saw the gentle rise of a hill.

“She’s waiting for you, up there. I can’t come with you. It’s not my time,” she said, her eyes kind. “But you’ll be fine. Go ahead.”

The next moment, he took the last few strides toward the top of the hill and the small temple standing there. He stopped and looked back the way he’d come. He couldn’t remember leaving the warden or walking out of the woods. One moment he’d been speaking to her and then the next he was here. As though thinking it had made it happen.

“Okay, now, that’s freaky.”

He glanced down at the precious burden he carried. The light was almost gone now. The glow in the center almost invisible in this light, only slender threads running over the surface helped him to pick out its form. For a second, he wished it were dark so he could see it clearly. Like the woman, Vixen’s soul would look beautiful in the darkness of night, even diminished like this. He looked up, renewed purpose in his eyes, and stepped into the temple.

It was almost empty, no furnishings inside, nothing on the stone bench other than a few old leaves obviously left over from last fall. On the other side of the room, a young girl sat looking out the window. Unlike the warden’s astral form, this girl seemed as solid and real as he did. A mere slip of a girl. He had the bizarre impulse to ask whether her mother was at home.

“You could try, but as I don’t actually remember my mother that could be somewhat of a problem,” she replied, turning to face him with a smile. Her voice was as terrible as the warden’s had been.

He froze for a moment, startled by the ancient eyes in such a youthful face. Same as the warden’s had been when he’d glimpsed the power within her, but a thousand times worse. Then, he realized he hadn’t actually spoken.

She smiled. “Of course, all my granddaughters carry a part of me within them,” she said, her eyes unfocused for a moment as though in thought. “Ah, Maribel... her journey is just beginning. A difficult journey, but that tends to happen to the powerful ones. And you don’t need to speak. Here, mere thought is sufficient.”

“Granddaughters?” He couldn’t stop the question from springing immediately to his lips, but then, the weak pulsing of light in his hand brought him back to his reason for being here. He held the orb out.

“Please...”

He faltered. What did you call a goddess? He had no doubt the creature who stood in front of him was a deity. He avoided religion like an arachnophobe avoided spiders, so he wasn’t sure what the approved method of communicating with one was.

“Please, my lady.”

He saw the small quirk of her lips and realized she’d read his predicament easily. Instead of speaking again, he held out Vixen’s failing soul.

She rose and took the small soul orb from him with delicate hands. Her bow-shaped lips pursed thoughtfully. “A soul. The soul of the warrioress Vixen.” She looked at him. “Her journey is almost over. Why do you bring this to me?”

Fear froze his heart in his chest. What did she mean Vixen’s journey was almost over? It couldn’t be.

“She’s my bond-mate, my lady... please, I can’t let her die.” He dropped to one knee before the slender figure of the childlike goddess.

She arched her eyebrow, an imperious look on her young face. “You can’t let her die? Why... what do you think you, a mere kyn, can do to avert the will of the gods?”

He bit his lip—he would fail. Vixen would die and he could do nothing about it. Coldness seeped into his heart.

“Nothing, my lady, except to beg you to take my soul in place of hers,” he said quietly, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“You would offer your soul? Why?” Curiosity laced her tone, as if he had finally done something interesting.

He looked up, hope bright in his dark eyes. “I love her. I would rather die so that she could live.”

The goddess nodded and wrapped her hands around the faltering light. He gasped and started forward, the urge to snatch it back strong.

“And if I refuse?” she asked, still watching him.

His response was calm as he stood and looked down at her. “Then take mine as well. I would rather share her fate, whatever it is, than live without her.”

Silence stretched between them, the two powerful beings... a kyn warrior and a goddess matching each other look for look. The tension tore at his nerves, at his very will, as the impulse to scream and rail at her grew with each second.

She smiled. Darkness closed around him and tears filled his eyes. He had failed. Defeat crowded into his heart, crushing him, leaving him empty.

Then her voice whispered in his ear. “A soul offered willingly for love is a rare thing, warrior. Perhaps rarer than you realize for one demon-born. Live your days with your warrioress, and may the child she carries be the first of many.”