Bloodflower

Every muscle in Jon’s body tightened as he leaned his knuckles against the worn table. He had enough shit of his own to deal with—his family dead, soldiers on his ass, and his men in danger.

Except now he had a new problem, a half-dead Guardian in his care. He didn’t want to believe it, but the statue at the head of the village left little room for doubt. Maybe he should walk away now and leave her with the healers. Most certainly she’d be safer with them and have a chance at a real life without dragging his problems into it.

Someone had tortured the woman. That much was clear from her emaciation. He’d spent too many years inside the Tower prison as a captain not to understand what starvation and long years in a cage did to a person.

Jon clenched his jaw tight as Mather stepped inside the hut. “Is she asleep?”

“For now.”

They’d tried to lead the Rakir away from the observatory, but the bastards corralled them in. While he’d tried to protect the Guardian, Mather was ambushed in the woods and barely missed a hoof-kick to the head.

Jon pulled the blanket up to Jàden’s chin and tucked it beneath her uninjured arm. The woman’s softness breathed into his skin, her magic spreading through his body as if she’d woven her essence into his veins.

He’d always ached for a woman of his own, one who saw past the terrifying soldier to the deepest parts of his heart and loved him anyway. Most only saw the darkness, the Tower patch, or his inability to relax enough to ever be ‘off duty.’ He supposed it was his fault for the deep shadows hanging over his life and the need to be constantly alert.

But he never imagined a woman would bind him as a husband before she even knew his name, especially a Guardian.

He should be angry at her. Shit, he should be furious. And yet the softness of her breath on his skin tugged at an ache deep in his soul.

How long since any woman let him close enough to touch her hand? Or to caress his fingers through the softness of her hair? Jon pulled the sensation in like a lover as he traced a thumb across her cheek, a deep connection he’d craved nearly all his life.

“Healers are in an uproar.” Mather crouched near the fire to warm his hands.

“Because we found a damn Guardian.” Not surprising. By the singing outside the hut, they’d want to keep Herana for themselves.

Never at peace with his Guardian sign, Jon had always considered himself one of the ranasen, those who followed the lonely path to Herana, the Guardian of Lost Souls.

The only moonless Guardian of the seven.

Except she couldn’t be real.

Guardians were no more than an idea to give comfort to those on the edges of death, though Jon often heard rumors that the southern cities built great towers to honor them. While the north destroyed all trace of the Guardians in favor of one central power: the Tower of Idrér.

“Worse,” Mather muttered. “One of their border men spotted Rakir on the east ridge.”

“Fuck.” Their hard ride through the canyon pass should have put enough distance between them and where he found Jàden. So much for any rest. Jon lit a cigarette and brushed past Mather to step outside. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Dropping the door back into place, he trudged across the plaza toward the stables. The previous day’s gentle shower turned back to freezing rain as a sharp wind blew across his cheek. The season of leaves was nearly at an end, and soon the season of the deep freeze would blanket the mountains under a veil of white. He needed to get to the other side before they were trapped in the passes.

Tied to an outside post, his and Mather’s stallions tossed their heads. Both northern-bred Tower horses ignored him as farriers brushed them down and offered each one treats. Unlike other equines, norshads only traveled in brother-herds and would kill most mares outside of mating season.

The stable keepers had to keep them away from the smaller mountain horses, but neither stallion seemed to care under the farriers’ attentions.

Jon stepped beneath the long eaves and crouched near their gear to assess the remaining supplies. Barely enough food to get them through another day.

Healer Feira, the village leader who’d cut the arrow out of Jàden’s shoulder, emerged from the shadows and shushed away the others as the last of the four suns dipped below the horizon. “Let the horses rest.”

Bright red hair glistened like dying embers of a spent fire as she stepped beneath the eaves and offered him a cup filled with steaming liquid.

“Thought you could use this.”

The rich smell of ground coffee teased his nose. Jon grabbed his saddle and blanket and set them on the back of his horse. Never one to pass up a fresh cup, he couldn’t shake the news of Rakir nearby and needed to have the horses ready to run again. He’d never want to bring the wrath of the Tower soldiers on a peaceful healer village.

“Thanks,” he muttered but ignored her outstretched hand as he pulled the cinch through the buckle.

“You’re leaving already?” Disappointment laced her tone as she set the cups aside and blocked him before he could grab Mather’s saddle. “The Guardian must have time to heal.”

He didn’t have time for the woman’s stubbornness. Jon tried to step around her, but Feira grabbed his arm.

“You are not like the other soldiers.” Her sharp eyes bored into him. “Rakir only show kindness to their brothers, never to outsiders.”

Even without their horses, he and Mather could never hide what they were—Tower soldiers. At least until six weeks ago.

The pain of that last day burned in his chest, but he pushed it down. Now wasn’t the time to relive his family’s death. “I’ll get rid of the scouts your border patrol found, but don’t get in my way again.”

“You have no supplies, Captain, and I daresay you used most of your shalir to pay for the Guardian’s healing.” She squeezed his arm to hold him in place as if she had some important piece of news. “I want to make you a trade.”

Jon took a long drag on his cigarette. Now what in all of Sandaris could she want to trade him? Few women were ever so bold around him or showed no fear. As his curiosity prickled, so did the hairs on the back of his neck. “Go on.”

“I want a child. A daughter with the strength of a warrior and the gentleness of a healer. Since the Guardian has no physical means to help me”—her eyes traced downward—“I want you to give me that child.”

Jon stared at Feira as if she’d gone mad. There were women in his home city who sold their bodies to soldiers as part of a bond-contract to produce an heir, a common practice since Rakir were forbidden to have wives. Many wanted to leave a blood legacy in this world, so they’d pay for a woman to be their companions—housing them, feeding them, and caring for them during the pregnancy and first year of nursing. Once the contract was complete, the woman left to sell her body to the next person and left the child behind.

“You want me for a bond-contract?” Jon had never considered it before, and the woman couldn’t have picked a worse time to make such an offer.

“No contract,” Feira practically hissed. “One night and the child is mine. You will leave in the morning along with your companion and all the supplies you need. The Guardian stays with us.”

Jon’s chest tightened as each word from her mouth hit him like a hammer. Of course she didn’t want him. But as soon as the healer mentioned Jàden, the hairs on his neck prickled in warning.

Tossing his spent cigarette aside, Jon pulled Feira’s hand off his arm. “Find someone else. I already have a wife.”

He brushed past her and picked up Mather’s saddle and blanket, setting them on the back of his friend’s horse. As he tightened the cinch, he tried to suppress the irritation creeping in. Only Jàden’s magic weaving through his senses kept him calm.

Fate indeed. Maybe he should have ignored his instincts earlier that day.

“I thought Rakir were forbidden to have wives.” Feira’s voice remained neutral.

But Jon still felt the underlying sting. It reminded him of the last time he saw his father alive. They’d argued because his father wanted him to bond a woman and keep her hidden on the family farm, but Jon would never cage another to satisfy his own needs.

Not that a woman would want him for a husband. She’d have to be out of her mind.

Feira seemed undeterred. “The Guardian must stay, Captain, even if you will not. Promise me.”

“Ain’t gonna force her, healer.” Jon untied the horses and fixed his gaze on Feira. “You did the job you were paid for. Now I’m gonna do mine.”

Although he didn’t feel like a husband because he knew almost nothing about the Guardian apart from some scattered mythologies, he’d already lost one family to the Tower’s orders.

He wouldn’t lose another—not the men he called brothers, nor the wife now in his care.

Jàden might not ever be the woman he ached for in his life, or see him as more than a bodyguard, but even Jon had to admit he found comfort in the connection to another person.

As he tied off the horses in front of the hut where Jàden slept, he patted each one on the cheek. “Rest while you can. I’m going to take care of a little problem.”