Summer of the Unicorn Read online

  “No.” Her voice was detached, distant.

  “Yes. And you want me.” He reached out slowly with his good hand, tracing his index finger around an erect nipple in a steady circle. “Look how you want me.”

  “No.” She didn’t draw away, and her eyes remained fixed on his face, frowning a little, vaguely disturbed. “The Keeper cannot. Siri will not.”

  He continued to caress her breast, now cupping the firm flesh and squeezing gently. But he was frowning, both unsettled and fascinated by her division of herself. He knew, of course, why the Keeper “could not” surrender to desire, but he was curious as to why Siri “would not.” “Why will Siri not?” he asked calmly.

  “She loves another.”

  His hand stilled, and Boran fought a sudden rage. “Does she?” His voice remained calm. “But I don’t ask for her love, princess. I don’t require it. I want only her body.”

  Siri tilted her head to one side, still frowning, apparently unaware of the hand on her breast. She seemed puzzled. “She cannot give her body except in love,” Siri told him slowly. “Even though you love her—”

  Boran stepped back jerkily. “What?”

  “You love your creation.” Her voice was still eerily detached. “It is—and is not—her. You love Siri as she would have been, without the Unicorns. Hunter loves her as she is.”

  The rage Boran felt warred with coldness as he realized how much she had shaken him. Furious, he reached out with both hands, his right hand grasping cloth and his stiff left hand hooking under the material. With one movement, he tore open her bodice, snapping the laces, until she was bare to the waist. Roughly, he grasped both her breasts. “This is what I love!” he said harshly. “A female body, princess, nothing more. The way a stallion loves a mare, and a dog loves a bitch!”

  She didn’t move, didn’t seem to feel the pain of his cruel hands. “Siri will not give you her body,” she said, in a voice that was curiously gentle. “And you cannot take it.”

  Boran was tempted. But he was certain of two things, even in his rage. One, that it would indeed have to be rape and, two, that it would be more pleasurable if Hunter watched. He slowly regained control over himself and stepped back again, releasing her bruised flesh.

  “Who are you?” he asked suddenly.

  She tilted her head again, her frown deepening. “I am…the Keepers,” she told him slowly.

  “Keepers? More than one?”

  “All Keepers.”

  Curiosity dimmed his anger. “Where is Siri? Where is the Keeper of the Unicorns?”

  “Here.”

  “Why doesn’t she speak?”

  “We do not allow it. She is…torn. You would harm her. The Guardians will not permit this. She must decide.”

  He was frowning. This was unexpected, and potentially troublesome. “You have never interfered before. Will you again?”

  “No.”

  He relaxed.

  Oddly, she smiled. “There will be no need. You are warned, Boran. She has powers even she does not suspect. Her body will not be taken against her will.”

  Boran banished a flicker of doubt. He was, after all, invincible. And he had so nearly taken Siri before; she would spread her legs for him at his bidding. He knew she would be his very soon. Her powers his. Her virgin’s blood his. And the unicorns, the Triad, his. “Take your precious Keeper back to her bed,” he ordered carelessly.

  She turned away, soon disappearing into the darkness of the forest.

  He stared after her. “Love!” he spat softly. He began to make his way back across the valley, angry and unsettled. He, love a woman? Any woman? It was laughable!

  And he laughed. But nothing human would have found the least bit of amusement in the soft sound.

  —

  Siri woke with a start just after dawn. She sat up and slid stiffly from her makeshift bed, her eyes going instantly to Hunter where he slept in the bed across the room. They had not spoken after his outburst yesterday, and Siri had no idea what to say to him today. There was nothing she could say, nothing that would change what was.

  She stood up, her body stretching automatically, and then winced and looked down at herself. Her hands lifted to her breasts, finding them tender, and she frowned at the broken laces. How had that happened? And when? She went to find fresh laces, removing the torn ones and tossing them into the fireplace absently. And she pulled her bodice open before replacing the laces, staring down at the bruises mottling her breasts.

  Coldness swept through her. What had happened? She remembered nothing, and the bruises had not been present when she had regained consciousness yesterday and dressed. She relaced the bodice slowly, trying to think. And that was when she became aware of the blankness again.

  Catching her breath, this worry replacing everything else, she crossed quickly to the table and sat down, drawing the cards forward. She shuffled the deck with the automatic, instinctive gesture of someone looking to a ritual for sure comfort. She laid out the pattern briskly and then stared down at the cards, seeking that comfort.

  There was none.

  Frowning, she studied each card of itself and in relation to the cards nearest it. What she saw was a meaningless jumble of cryptic symbols and disjointed warnings.

  There was danger, but it was unnamed. There was blankness…wrongness…threat. There was purpose, evil purpose. Green eyes…but something wrong with them. She couldn’t see what was wrong with them. And a face that was half angel and half devil…wavering…shimmering like heat off a rock…an angel face…no…half devil…slipping away…a twisted smile…a dead, beckoning hand….

  Siri rubbed her eyes hard and stared down at the pattern again. Nothing. What had she seen? She couldn’t remember. As if a veil had been drawn across the inner eye she depended on. She saw the symbols and knew what each meant, but she could see nothing specific, nothing concrete.

  But she felt the wrongness, like a chill of death.

  Hesitating only a moment, she rose and crossed quickly to the open door. She didn’t try to summon the Unicorns, but instead sent out the piercing sound of warning. She didn’t try to touch Cloud’s mind, except to fling a quick, wordless request for him to do what he could to hide the cave opening himself. Then she blanked her mind instantly, trying to sense what the wrongness meant.

  “Siri?”

  She half-turned to see that Hunter, awakened by her warning, was dressing quickly, his face taut and his green eyes fixed on her. The anger of yesterday was gone; today there was only swift concern and the instant desire to help her.

  “Something’s wrong,” she explained evenly. “The cards make no sense, but something’s wrong.”

  He was strapping on his knife, his gaze intent and searching. “Huntmen?”

  “I don’t know!” There was a wealth of bewilderment and anxiety in her cry. “I just don’t know. We’ll have to set the traps and patrol. Carefully. Whatever is threatening may already be in the valley.”

  “I love you,” he said, needing to say it, needing to repair what hasty words might have damaged.

  She went still for a moment, gazing at him, and then the Keeper was turning away briskly to claim her weapons. Once outside the cabin, they stood for a moment scanning what they could see of the valley. All appeared peaceful, but the sky remained gray and still, and not a whisper of wind or a single note of a bird’s song disturbed the silence.

  “Now even I feel it,” Hunter said. “There’s something very wrong here.”

  “We’ll have to split up,” she said, “and check the traps as quickly as we can. We can meet at the Crystal Pool when the traps are set. The Unicorns are hidden; Cloud will see to it that the brush hides the cave opening.”

  Hunter didn’t argue, feeling a sudden, driving need for haste. “Be careful,” he said softly as they parted.

  —

  It took nearly an hour for them to check the traps. Each worked quickly, the senses of two trained warriors probing their surroundings guardedly, war
ily. When they met at the pool, both were tense.

  “I’ve never known the valley to be so silent,” she said as they worked their way back toward the meadow.

  “If the threat comes from Huntmen,” he agreed, “they must be unusually strong and determined.”

  “Perhaps these are after the Triad.”

  Hunter stopped. Astonished, he asked, “What?”

  Siri hesitated, then said, “According to ancient legend, a man’s strength and power can be tripled by the possession of three horns. Age—the horn of an old Unicorn; Strength—the horn of a Unicorn in his prime; and Youth—the horn of a young Unicorn. Not many remember that legend, but some have.”

  Before Hunter could respond, they were both frozen into immobility by the sense more than the sound of presence. With a shared glance, they began moving again, more slowly, more cautiously. They moved only far enough to peer through concealing trees into the meadow—and the danger then became palpable.

  Six Huntmen stood out in the meadow, close-grouped, conferring among themselves quietly. They carried no packs but went armed with the usual spears and knives; one held a crossbow. There was a peculiar sense of unity here missing from the earlier group; these men were stone-faced, and there was no obvious mockery among them, no jeers. No bravado.

  Hunter felt a chill. He was looking at Death awaiting only a victim, and he knew it.

  So did Siri. Crouched in the underbrush beside Hunter, she studied the Huntmen intensely. Faced with clear danger, she didn’t think again of the wrongness, the blankness she still felt; she assumed the Huntmen were responsible for that. She felt Hunter tense beside her, and her own body stiffened as two men left the group and headed determinedly for the forest.

  “They’ll probably split up inside the woods,” she whispered. “So we will, too. We have to reduce their numbers or we don’t stand a chance.”

  Hunter nodded silently. There was so much he wanted, needed, to say. He said nothing.

  They faded back into the forest, parting with a last glance so intense it startled them both: Siri because her own emotions had risen up so powerfully in that instant; Hunter because he had seen mute longing in her eyes. But neither could afford to think of that.

  The silence of the woods closed around them, ominous and heavy. There was a need for speed and both knew it. The other Huntmen could easily circle to get behind them, catching them in the center of a deadly circle. Aware of that possibility, they wasted no time in pursuing their adversaries. The two men had, as Siri had predicted, separated upon entering the forest; both were uncommon woodsmen, moving with silence and stealth.

  But they were up against two warriors trained from youth and driven by a purpose no greedy mind could ever match.

  Siri took her man within moments of leaving Hunter. It was a brief, silent battle, the man the more powerful of the two but Siri too quick and skilled to be defeated. It cost her a few bruises and the ache of strained muscles. But she won.

  Hunter was just as quick, the fear of having Siri out of his sight and in danger making him a deadly foe. He wasted no motion and no pity on the body left for the animals to drag away.

  They met where they’d parted shortly before, both still too tense and wary to think much of personal concerns. They were committed to their war, and both were conscious of time rushing. Gripping their weapons, still silent, they moved on.

  Instead of returning to where they’d first seen the Huntmen, they moved through the forest away from the path to where the woods curved out from the cabin. Compared to any other vantage point it was no better or worse; they still couldn’t get close enough to use arrows or spears. But that turned out to be a futile point as they arrived at the forest’s edge and gazed across a deserted meadow.

  Both froze instantly, straining with quivering senses to locate the missing Huntmen. Siri whistled softly, chancing a call to the feathered inhabitants of the forest, and an answering cry filtered through the trees to them. One cry.

  She frowned as she turned back to Hunter. “One is searching near Bundy’s cave.”

  “Maybe he’ll be roasted.”

  “Only if he’s incautious—and somehow I don’t think he will be.”

  Hunter nodded, accepting. “The others?”

  “I don’t know.” Siri rubbed fretfully between her brows. “I can’t sense them, and the birds don’t see them in the forest. They must be at the narrow end of the valley among the canyons. Perhaps they think the Unicorns are hidden there.”

  After a moment’s thought, Hunter shrugged. “We know where one is; let’s get him. No—I’ll get him. It’s your turn to wait and watch.”

  Siri smiled a little, knowing when not to protest. But she was still gazing at him, troubled. “I wish I knew—”

  “Where the others are?”

  “Yes. I still feel that wrongness, that blankness. Hunter, be careful.”

  “You, too,” he advised, touching her cheek briefly. Then he paused before turning away. “I’ll meet you back here,” he added meaningfully.

  “All right.” She accepted and understood his worry. But how strange to have someone worried about her! “If I’m not here, it’ll be because the other Huntmen appeared and came too near. If that happens, I’ll work my way back around to Bundy’s cave.”

  He hesitated for another second, knowing that he was leaving her disturbed, and unsure of what that might mean. He didn’t doubt either her survival instincts or her skills, but his own instincts were clamoring a warning.

  But he left finally, spear in hand and knife loosened and ready in its sheath. He threaded his way among the trees, keeping cautiously to cover as he searched for another who searched. And he wondered about the “wrongness” that Siri found so troubling. He accepted her description of wrongness and blankness but found it difficult to understand, even though he himself felt the changed atmosphere of the valley. Still, it was enough that she was worried.

  Enough to worry him. Enough to distract him.

  Enough to almost get him killed.

  The Huntman burst from the tangled undergrowth in a murderous dive, his outstretched hand bearing a knife long enough to daunt an enraged snowcat.

  The knife missed Hunter by scant inches as he dodged, his own knife instantly in hand. He had no time to use the spear, for his powerful opponent lunged again immediately, knocking it away with the bow he held. Spear and bow fell and were trampled underfoot as two pairs of strong arms fought for the space to thrust a deadly knife.

  And then there was only the desperate straining of muscle and balance, greed and need. Clothing tore in grasping fingers, sweat slicked flesh and dripped blindingly into eyes. Grunts of pain sounded as knees and booted feet sought crippling blows.

  They were evenly matched, both tall and broad-shouldered, both strong. The Huntman weighed a few pounds more, but Hunter was driven by a need to win that the other could never hope to equal in his simple greed and anger.

  Hunter would win because he had to.

  The only price he could not pay for more time with Siri was his life.

  Or hers.

  “You’ll…lose,” he panted, his knife moving nearer to a convulsing throat even as he held the other’s knife at bay.

  “No,” the other rasped harshly.

  “You lose!” Hunter repeated as the knife inched closer to its target.

  The other man’s muddy brown eyes, fierce with rage, went suddenly, oddly, opaque. And then glittered with a wild triumph. “No, Morgan,” he hissed balefully. “You lose! She loses!”

  And Hunter’s knife, with a strength born of chilling unnamed fear, found its target.

  He crouched there by the fallen Huntman for a moment, breathing raspingly. His muscles ached with the strain of combat, and his mind was clouded and useless until his heart slowed its pounding.

  Then the Huntman’s peculiar triumph registered and Hunter felt again that chilling finger of fear tracing his spine.

  “You lose! She loses!”


  He had been so certain.

  Too certain.

  Forgetting everything but Siri in that moment, Hunter caught up the bow, spear, and knife left by the enemy, slammed his own knife home in its leather sheath, and raced through the woods with the reckless speed of driving anxiety. And when he came at last to the place where she’d promised to wait, there was only her bow, splintered and useless, lying on the ground.

  Beyond anger and fear and despair lies a fury, a heedless, berserk ferocity far, far over the brink of madness. It shatters civilized control and leaves behind it icily cold, utterly uncaring determination. Words cannot reach that place, cannot touch it; all fail-safe mechanisms built over aeons of evolution to cage the beast are irrevocably gone. And that beast, that raging beast, demands violent action.

  Beside himself with rage, Hunter watched the implacable, suffering stranger to whom words meant nothing and the explosive release of action everything. They had her. And how they could hurt her.

  Siri…

  —

  When Hunter had disappeared into the woods, Siri leaned against the tree at her back and stared broodingly toward the deserted meadow. When Hunter found his target—and she never doubted that he would—there would be three left. She listened for a moment, hearing nothing, no disturbance in the forest or meadow. Sensing only wrongness.

  Uneasiness made her shift her weight restlessly. The last ones, she thought firmly, would be no problem. And then they could release the Unicorns from their hiding place and be safe again. For a while.

  Until the next time.

  She became aware, suddenly, that her hand was tapping the bow restlessly against her leg. The uneasiness was stronger now. Frowning, she focused a mental question and thrust it at her subconscious, into the well, since her conscious mind could find no answer.

  She was tensing even as the answer came, tensing and stepping away from the tree, bow lifting.

  Too late. Too late.

  She knew the answer as pain lanced the back of her head, as she fell to the ground. Knew that her mindless prayers had been answered, that she would not have to choose between Hunter’s life and those of the Unicorns. Knew as blackness closed over her in a smothering blanket why there had been wrongness in the valley and a blankness she’d been unable to see through. And she tried and failed to hold clear thoughts as cold agony hit her, tried to scream the mental warning she had no strength even to whisper.