Uriel

Chapter 1 - Redux

No, her aunt was there. Sam could feel it in her bones. They needed her too much for her not to be. Nasrin was the only connection they had in all of Rhea--and their greatest chance of finding the answers they needed. Without her, Sam and Braeden had nothing, and this entire trip to Rhea would be at best a wild goose chase.

But not matter what happened, the Convent was guaranteed to be a sight more pleasant than sweating to death in the desert.

"We made it!" she crowed, lifting her face to the sky. "Faith in blood, we finally made it." She turned in her saddle to look at Braeden, eager to share her excitement.

A smile stole across his lips--still too rare, his smiles. "We made it," he agreed, relief plain in his crimson gaze. Their sojourn to Rhea had already proven far more challenging than either of them had expected, and they hadn't yet accomplished much of anything.

They were still miles out from the Convent, but with each step closer, the ivory-white vision became more real. They could see the tall pillars that held the domes aloft and the turreted roofs of the soaring, slender towers. A bell chimed faintly in the distance. Sam spurred Quicksilver to go a little faster.

It took Sam a few minutes before she realized Braeden wasn't keeping up. He had fallen nearly twenty yards behind. Drawing her horse to a halt, she twisted her torso around and called to him. "Hurry up, you laggard!"

He must not have heard her over the wind, for he kept his same painfully slow pace. She sighed and shook her head. Braeden knew better than she that time was of the essence.

She didn't realize something was wrong until Braeden's mount reared on its hind legs, throwing him from the saddle. They'd come across rattlesnakes and scorpions and worse in the desert; nothing before had spooked the sturdy bay mare.

"Are you alright?" she shouted, her heart in her throat. She turned Quicksilver around to go back for him. Surely the sand would have cushioned his landing.

Braeden's bay reared into the air once more, and, free of her charge, galloped away at a speed Sam hadn't thought possible. And to think the man who had sold them the horse had boasted of her loyalty.

Leery of losing another horse, Sam jumped down from the saddle and grabbed the reins. Whatever had spooked Braeden's mount could spook hers too.

It didn't take her long to find Braeden. He lay face down in the sand, still as a corpse. She dropped to her knees, panic rising. What in the Gods' name had happened?

She nudged him gently. "Braeden?" He didn't move.

Forget the horse. Sam dropped the reins and shifted into a squat. Quicksilver whinnied nervously behind her, dancing backwards. She slid her hands underneath Braeden's chest and lifted. He was heavier than he looked. The muscles in her arms strained, tired and weak from the heat and days without enough water. Somehow she managed to flip him over onto his back.

His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell in steady, even breaths. Sam pressed her fingers to his throat, his skin warm to the touch. His pulse was strong but erratic.

Stay calm, she told herself. He's very much alive, you ninny. Besides, Braeden was nearly impossible to fatally injure. Unless...A niggling thought crept into her head.

Sam gripped the lapels of his robe and pulled them apart. "No," she breathed in a horrified whisper. Damn her intuition for always being right.

The swirls and glyphs inked across his chest stood out in stark relief against the deep gold of his skin. The tattoo was glowing orange-red, like the embers of a fire.

There was only one person who could truly harm Braeden. And the glowing tattoo was a sure sign he now had his former pupil in his clutches.

She shook Braeden's shoulders, frantic now. "Come on, Braeden, wake up!"

Braeden's eyes snapped open. His irises burned with the same fiery red as his ensorcelled ink. He sat up, staring straight ahead, his expression vacant.

Behind her, Quicksilver let out a terrified squeal and bolted. "Faith in blood," Sam swore, stealing a glance behind her before returning her attention to Braeden. The last time the High Commander of the Paladins had possessed him, Braeden had almost killed her. He had fought free of his control in the nick of time. With an entire ocean now between them, Sam had thought they were safe from the High Commander's influence. That he could reach Braeden a continent away meant that he was more powerful than they'd guessed. They wouldn't be safe anywhere.

Sam trusted Braeden more than she trusted anyone. She loved him so much it hurt. But even she couldn't be sure that he would be able to rebuff the man he'd once called Master a second time. Whoever said that love conquered all never accounted for the High Commander's evil.

Sam stood, drawing her sword from its sheath. She would never kill him, but she would defend herself if she needed to.

Braeden's fiery stare swiveled toward her. There was nothing human in his face. He pushed onto his feet, his movements stiff and awkward.

"Fight him, Braeden," Sam pleaded. "We've come too far for him to stop us."

The fire dimmed from his eyes. "Sam," he said raggedly. He took a small step toward her, and then his gaze pulsed with an even brighter blaze. He threw back his head and laughed, a musical sound that was equal parts beautiful and terrible.

"High Commander," she spat out. The answering smile, so unlike Braeden's shy grin, confirmed he now held control. "Give him back!"

Braeden's body took another step toward her, his smile twisting into a sneer. "I should have killed you with my own bare hands."

"Then why didn't you?" Sam retorted. He'd come close, delivering her a near fatal wound.

He shrugged. "Braeden needed to be taught a lesson."

"What lesson? That the man who raised him is a monster?"

He laughed again, the sound discordant from Braeden's lungs. "That, I'm afraid, he already knew."

Without warning, he sprang toward her, streaking across the sand in a blur of black and silver. Before she could register the movement, his hands wrapped around her throat and squeezed. "Braeden belongs to me," he snarled. "He needed to be reminded."

Sam whacked him across the ribs with the flat of her blade, to no avail. She dropped her sword, grabbed his wrists with one hand, and then pried off his fingers one at a time.

"Don't worry, my dear," said the High Commander conversationally. "If I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead."

"I don't believe you," Sam managed to choke out.

He let his hands fall from her neck. "You'll die someday soon, Lady Samantha. But I may have use for you yet."