FOREVER KNIGHTS: #12 Primal Intent
A Biting Blade

She suspected he was the one sending her the visions.

Which is true.

But she thought he did it to make her come to him.

When in truth it was because he wanted her to see what was happening to them. To experience it.

He admitted to himself that he didn’t object to her crying to him of their suffering and letting him hold her, caress her while she sputtered and wept. But I don’t like seeing her cry. And I don’t enjoy making her suffer.

“Where have you been, Little One?” Charles Danbury was livid. His eyes containing red rings around the irises. His tone vicious even as he said the endearment. He was in his chair sitting in the foyer. Under the light of the candles marking the railing of the stairwell.

“I had a nightmare. I thought the woods would soothe me.”

“The woods. Or your lover?”

She gave him a sideways look. Her hair a wild tangle over her shoulders and the nightdress muddied and clinging. “That’s an inappropriate accusation, Charles.”

“Inappropriate is what you’ve been doing. I should have you whipped.” His teeth ground.

“Should you?” She spat equally as viciously. “In my castle? And who’d whip me, Charles? Will it be your hand?”

Only then did he realize he’d gone too far. His eyes turning brown and softening. “I would never! I was just so worried for your safety!” He cried. Starting to sniffle.

But she was still looking at him askance.

His dark words not so easily dismissed. “You know there are Dreads in those woods. It’s purported they can make one come to them against their will. Hunger for them. An enchantment they can cast over the innocent to make them hand over things they’d otherwise never dream of sharing with someone of their ilk.” He frowned mournfully. “Is that what’s happened to you, Little One?” His brow was thickly knitted and his eyes so soft as to appear almost feminine.

“I know the myths, Charles. But does anyone know if they’re anything more than that?”

“They’re seducers, deceivers and defilers!”

“I don’t believe the man I know is a killer.”

“They hunger for flesh!” He expostulated. Cheeks purpling under the dim glow of candles marking the stairs above him. “’Tis said they drink the blood of other beings. Leaving deep wounds.”

“Amusing tale.” Her eyes narrowed. “He’s never sprouted fangs or pierced my skin nor sprouted wings and flown away.”

“He is evil!”

“Is he?” She gave him a sideways look. “Who’s killing peasants in my village, Charles?”

“Wh-What village?” He turned his head to the side. Suddenly looking at the wall sconce near him.

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m truly beginning to doubt that he is the darkness infecting Nightway like a plague.”

“But you, yourself have said he doesn’t age!” Charles objected. “How could that be?”

“A woman died in NightVille tonight. Someone tortured her.” Riaura said softly.

Charles frowned and looked back at her. The softness draining from his eyes and his eyebrows flattening. “I’m so sorry.” But there was no inflection in his tone.

“Are you behind it?”

“How could you?” His face crumpled. “Little One…” He whispered in betrayal. “I…” Then he collapsed out of his chair onto his side. Rattling on the floor. Teeth clattering as he went into one of his episodes.

The next night was the first of winter in Nightway. Bringing with it a bitter chill. And a frosty bite. Alazareth was stationed as Guard in the Bailey. Watching over the bridge from the courtyard near the Gaming Ground. He wore his heavy armor, adorned with the massive fur cloak pinned to his shoulders to keep the armor from icing and permeating into his bones.

A nice night for a stroll. He thought ruefully.

He’d just done a walk through of the Bailey to inspect all the corners. Ensuring every Guard was on post and alert. It was finally a moment he could relax. He looked up into the night sky. Watching as it seemed a million stars fell from the night sky when in truth it was only the scatter of slow snowflakes making their way down. Melting as they touched him.

Slowly he turned and when he lowered his head to look in front of him, he felt the frigid bite of a blade against his throat beneath the helmet. “I waited for you in the Grove until dark.” His voice was accusing.

“And I refused to come.” She hissed. The fur trim of her cloak teasing around her hair and face. As she peered up at him. Pushing the edge of the blade hard enough against his windpipe under his jaw that he was forced to turn his head up.

He reached up and yanked his helmet off. Pushing into her dagger as he forced his chin down to look at her through betrayed blue eyes. “Do it.”

She breathed heavily. Her shoulders lifting. Breath crystalizing in the night air.

Alazar felt eyes of other knights on them. But I don’t give two shits.

“Why didn’t you come?” He bit out. Tucking his helmet under his arm.

If she was going to slit me, she’d have done it by now.

Grunting she dropped her dagger to the snow and turned away. Dismayed with herself.

With her weakness. He watched her go as he lowered to pick up the blade. Running his thumb absentmindedly along the tip as he watched her go.

And finding it as sharp as his throat had told him it was.

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