The Gauntlet by Karen Chance
Chapter Eight
He didn’t tell her again that this might not work. He didn’t tell her anything at all. But golden threads of a magic she didn’t know suddenly curled around her hands where they rested on his arms. She had always thought vampires were creatures of the dark, but the same bright magic shone around him as his hands came up to bracket her face.
“I don’t know your first name,” he whispered, against her lips.
“Gillian,” she told him, hearing her voice tremble.
“Gillian,” he repeated, and her name in his voice was full of so much longing that it coiled in her belly, dark and liquid, like her own emotion. And perhaps it was. Because when he suddenly bit down on her lower lip, the sensation left her trembling, but not with fear.
He made a low noise in his throat and pulled her close. The same strange magic that twisted around them sparked off his fingers wherever they touched her, like rubbed wool in winter. The tiny flashes of sensation had her arching helplessly against him, one hand clenched on his shoulder, the other buried in the heavy silk of his hair.
She could taste her own blood, hot and coppery, on his tongue as he drove the kiss deep, and it drew a sound from her, something animal and desperate. She gulped for air when he pulled back, almost a sob. She wanted—she wanted more than this; his hands on her body, his skin against hers, his tongue tracing the tiny wound he’d made—
But when he returned, it wasn’t to her lips.
A brilliant flash of pain went through her, like a shock of cold water, as his fangs slid into the flesh of her neck. She drew in a stuttering breath, but before she could cry out, a rush of rich, strong magic flooded her senses, spreading heat through every fiber of her body. She’d always thought of vampires as taking, but this was giving, too, an impossibly intimate sharing that she’d never even dreamed was—
He didn’t move, but it suddenly felt like he was inside her, thrusting all that power into her very core. She shuddered and opened to him, helpless to resist, the vampire shining on her and in her, elemental and blazing and gone past human. The pain was gone, the magic driving that and everything else away, crashing over her like ocean waves, an unrelenting and unending tide. She screamed beneath it, because it couldn’t be borne and had to be; because there was no bracing to meet it and no escape; and because it would end, and that would be even harder to bear.
“Gillian.” It took her a moment to realize he had drawn back, with the tide of magic still surging through her veins. It felt like sea, ebbing and flowing in pounding waves that shook the very foundations of—
She blinked, and realized that it wasn’t just the vampire’s magic making the room shake. It wasn’t even the pounding on the door, which seemed to have stopped in any case. She frowned and watched as the few remaining charms jittered and danced off the table, all on their own.
“What is it?” she asked, bemused. The vampire pulled her to the window, and leaned out, dangerously far. “What are you doing?” she tried to pull him back. “They’ll kill you!”
“I don’t think so,” he said, his voice sounding as stunned as she felt.
“Why not?”
“Because I believe you may have completed that ward, after all.”
He backed away from the window and she moved forward, in time to see what looked like a black wave crash into the side of the tower, shaking it to its very foundation. She blinked, dizzy from blood loss and still burning with strange energy. And then another wave started for them, rising out of the earth of the courtyard, and she understood.
“In defense of your life,” the vampire said, with quiet irony.
Gillian looked down to see the third spiral of the triskelion, glowing bright against her wrist. She traced it with a finger and power shivered in the air for a moment, before melting back into her skin, joining the tide swelling within her.
“I think it might be best if it didn’t hit,” he said, glancing from the approaching wave to the cracks spidering up the old walls. “Can you stop it?”
“I don’t want to stop it,” she told him, flexing her fingers and feeling the warmth of deep rich soil beneath her hands, the whisper of the age old magic of the earth in her ears. But there was something else there, too, alien and strange, but powerful, all the same. It wasn’t the vampire’s rich, golden energy, but colder, more metallic, more—
She laughed, suddenly understanding what the old Mother had meant. “You’ll have all the power you need,” she repeated.
“What?”
“The Mother didn’t just link the witches into her coven,” she told him delightedly. “She linked the mages, too!”
He stared at her, and then back at the awesome power of the land rising to meet them. “That’s…very interesting, but I think we had better jump before the next wave hits.”
“Let the Circle jump!” she said, and pushed out.
The magic flowing along her limbs followed the motion—and so did the earthen tide. It paused almost at the tower base, trembling on the edge of breaking like a wave about to crest. And then it surged back in the other direction.
Masses of black soil rippled out in concentric circles from the base of the tower, flowing like water toward the old fortress walls. They hit like the surf on the beach, crashing into stone and old mortar already riddled with tiny fissures from years of neglect. The fissures became cracks, the cracks became gaps, and still the waves came. Until the earth shifted beneath the foundations and the stones slipped loose from each other and the walls crumbled away.
There were shouts and curses from the guards who fell with the walls, and from the bewildered mages who suddenly found themselves at the center of a pile of spread-out rubble. But the witches were eerily silent, turning as one to look up at the tower for a long, drawn out moment. And then they gave an ancient battle cry that raised the hair on Gillian’s arms.
And charged as one.
He didn’t tell her again that this might not work. He didn’t tell her anything at all. But golden threads of a magic she didn’t know suddenly curled around her hands where they rested on his arms. She had always thought vampires were creatures of the dark, but the same bright magic shone around him as his hands came up to bracket her face.
“I don’t know your first name,” he whispered, against her lips.
“Gillian,” she told him, hearing her voice tremble.
“Gillian,” he repeated, and her name in his voice was full of so much longing that it coiled in her belly, dark and liquid, like her own emotion. And perhaps it was. Because when he suddenly bit down on her lower lip, the sensation left her trembling, but not with fear.
He made a low noise in his throat and pulled her close. The same strange magic that twisted around them sparked off his fingers wherever they touched her, like rubbed wool in winter. The tiny flashes of sensation had her arching helplessly against him, one hand clenched on his shoulder, the other buried in the heavy silk of his hair.
She could taste her own blood, hot and coppery, on his tongue as he drove the kiss deep, and it drew a sound from her, something animal and desperate. She gulped for air when he pulled back, almost a sob. She wanted—she wanted more than this; his hands on her body, his skin against hers, his tongue tracing the tiny wound he’d made—
But when he returned, it wasn’t to her lips.
A brilliant flash of pain went through her, like a shock of cold water, as his fangs slid into the flesh of her neck. She drew in a stuttering breath, but before she could cry out, a rush of rich, strong magic flooded her senses, spreading heat through every fiber of her body. She’d always thought of vampires as taking, but this was giving, too, an impossibly intimate sharing that she’d never even dreamed was—
He didn’t move, but it suddenly felt like he was inside her, thrusting all that power into her very core. She shuddered and opened to him, helpless to resist, the vampire shining on her and in her, elemental and blazing and gone past human. The pain was gone, the magic driving that and everything else away, crashing over her like ocean waves, an unrelenting and unending tide. She screamed beneath it, because it couldn’t be borne and had to be; because there was no bracing to meet it and no escape; and because it would end, and that would be even harder to bear.
“Gillian.” It took her a moment to realize he had drawn back, with the tide of magic still surging through her veins. It felt like sea, ebbing and flowing in pounding waves that shook the very foundations of—
She blinked, and realized that it wasn’t just the vampire’s magic making the room shake. It wasn’t even the pounding on the door, which seemed to have stopped in any case. She frowned and watched as the few remaining charms jittered and danced off the table, all on their own.
“What is it?” she asked, bemused. The vampire pulled her to the window, and leaned out, dangerously far. “What are you doing?” she tried to pull him back. “They’ll kill you!”
“I don’t think so,” he said, his voice sounding as stunned as she felt.
“Why not?”
“Because I believe you may have completed that ward, after all.”
He backed away from the window and she moved forward, in time to see what looked like a black wave crash into the side of the tower, shaking it to its very foundation. She blinked, dizzy from blood loss and still burning with strange energy. And then another wave started for them, rising out of the earth of the courtyard, and she understood.
“In defense of your life,” the vampire said, with quiet irony.
Gillian looked down to see the third spiral of the triskelion, glowing bright against her wrist. She traced it with a finger and power shivered in the air for a moment, before melting back into her skin, joining the tide swelling within her.
“I think it might be best if it didn’t hit,” he said, glancing from the approaching wave to the cracks spidering up the old walls. “Can you stop it?”
“I don’t want to stop it,” she told him, flexing her fingers and feeling the warmth of deep rich soil beneath her hands, the whisper of the age old magic of the earth in her ears. But there was something else there, too, alien and strange, but powerful, all the same. It wasn’t the vampire’s rich, golden energy, but colder, more metallic, more—
She laughed, suddenly understanding what the old Mother had meant. “You’ll have all the power you need,” she repeated.
“What?”
“The Mother didn’t just link the witches into her coven,” she told him delightedly. “She linked the mages, too!”
He stared at her, and then back at the awesome power of the land rising to meet them. “That’s…very interesting, but I think we had better jump before the next wave hits.”
“Let the Circle jump!” she said, and pushed out.
The magic flowing along her limbs followed the motion—and so did the earthen tide. It paused almost at the tower base, trembling on the edge of breaking like a wave about to crest. And then it surged back in the other direction.
Masses of black soil rippled out in concentric circles from the base of the tower, flowing like water toward the old fortress walls. They hit like the surf on the beach, crashing into stone and old mortar already riddled with tiny fissures from years of neglect. The fissures became cracks, the cracks became gaps, and still the waves came. Until the earth shifted beneath the foundations and the stones slipped loose from each other and the walls crumbled away.
There were shouts and curses from the guards who fell with the walls, and from the bewildered mages who suddenly found themselves at the center of a pile of spread-out rubble. But the witches were eerily silent, turning as one to look up at the tower for a long, drawn out moment. And then they gave an ancient battle cry that raised the hair on Gillian’s arms.
And charged as one.