Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) by Coreene Callahan Page B

The clumsy movement screamed of ineptitude, reminding her she was unfit for both her duty and her sister’s calling. Even so, she continued to rearrange the cloth, trying to deny that in this moment she valued him more than she did herself. But the proof lay in her actions: in the precision of her hands, the focus of her mind, and the heat in her heart.
    “Afina,” he said, his tone just shy of a growl.
    She swiped at the corner of her eye, wanting to growl back. But her voice didn’t come when called and she stayed silent, erecting barriers, shoring up defenses to cushion the blows from the battering ram he hammered against the brittle doors of her inner sanctum.
    “
Draga
, I...” He cleared his throat, his attention trained on Kazim and Sabine across the clearing. “I cannot protect you if you will not let me.”
    “Be quiet!” She tried to sound strong, but her voice wavered, giving her away. He opened his mouth. But she’d had enough, was stretched way too thin. And before he spoke, Afina pointed at him, put her index finger right in his face. “Unless you wish to tend this yourself...
be quiet
.”
    Blue eyes narrowed on her, his mouth snapped shut.
    An ache throbbed through her limbs, as though she’d been bruised from the inside out. Yet even as she suffered the pain Afina kept her gaze steady, her finger even with his nose to ensure he stayed silent. A muscle jumped along his jaw, and although he didn’t look away, he didn’t say another word.
    Thank the goddess.
    She didn’t want to talk anymore.
    Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, Afina lowered her hand and glanced away. The coming winter be damned. She needed to get away from Xavian before her courage crumbled...before the urge to stay and accept his protection overcame good sense and death came to claim them all.

CHAPTER SIX
    The elusive son of a bitch was good. The best, really...if he took himself out of the equation. Henrik couldn’t help but admire Ram’s efficiency. He’d gotten to her first. Had tracked and taken Vladimir’s prize, mayhap less than a day ago.
    Henrik’s gaze shifted from the scarred tabletop to the rickety stools then to the dirt floor. He followed the swirling pattern left by the fingers of a broom, the curling strokes as old as the ash in the hearth. One corner of his mouth turned up. Neat. Clean. Not a trace of the person who had occupied the sweet little hovel. He fingered one of the hooks nailed into the support beam. He’d even taken the hammock. His admiration widened into a smile.
    Christ, he’d always liked Ram, even when they’d been trading fists.
    With one last sweep of the one-room shack, Henrik slipped out the door and latched it behind him. His attention on the ground, he tracked east toward the large beech trees. Beneath fall’s splendor, faint grooves marked the earth, hidden by fallen leaves and windblown vegetation. He stopped beneath one of the canopies. Thick tree limbs swayed above his head, rustling in the gloom. A storm was coming, a violent one that thickened the air and blackened the sky as he crouched to study the impressions.
    Someone had lain here. The woman?
    He frowned. Had she struggled against capture? Henrik snorted, hoping she’d given Ram all the trouble the bastard deserved. He didn’t trust anything that came too easy. ’Twas the reason he wanted to kill that damned priest. Gutless, yellow-bellied arse.
    With a soft growl, he pushed to his feet, fighting the urge to go back and give Father Marion his due. He was a priest, for Christ’s sake. Yet, one look from him and the good father had lost all faith and betrayed the lass—pointing him in her direction like a Transylvanian hunting hound. Goddamn, he hated cowards. Their kind made his belly turn, and the fact the milksop wet his robes on Henrik’s way out was only a small consolation.
    He shook his head and snapped his fingers. The soft sound called Tabi to attention. The bay roan he favored lifted her head and, with