Dark Warrior (Warrior 2)

With swift hands Michael deflected his attack, grabbed him around the neck and with a quick jerk broke it.Chapter 3Mary was stunned silent. She had seen death through illness, but never had she seen one man take another man’s life. And never had she seen a man kill to protect her. She shuddered, her stomach quivered, and she closed her eyes, offering a quick prayer for both men.

With her eyes open again, the shock and horror on the man’s face when he looked upon Michael played before her eyes. She could not imagine what caused this terrifying reaction, and the thought that she was dependent on a stranger who brought such fear made her shiver. Had she placed her safety in a savior or the devil’s hands?

Michael rushed through the open door. “We need to leave now.”

He reached down to where Mary crouched on the floor, grabbed her arm, yanked her to her feet and out into the bright sunlight. Mary saw no signs of the man’s body as Michael hurried her into the woods, but then he would not be foolish enough to leave the dead man in plain sight.

A few feet into the woods, Michael stopped and snatched up several stones.

“Keep these with you in case we are separated.” He shoved them into her hand. “We must move quickly and put as much distance as possible between Decimus’s men and us.”

She nodded vigorously to let him know she understood, placed the stones in the hem of her sleeve. They would need to keep a steady pace and probably continue on into the night. She had to remain strong whether she had the stamina or not.

He stepped in front of her to lead the way, hesitated a moment and turned his shroud-covered head to her. “Your legs, are they strong enough?”

She responded with a faint smile; she was not at all certain if her weak legs would hold her.

“No harm will come to you.” His voice was harsh and confident.

He turned and walked ahead, his strides powerful yet silent. As Mary followed behind him, ignoring the pain in her legs and back, she realized he moved like a shadow, weightless and fearless of his surroundings, avoiding the bright sunlight as much as possible, choosing instead the dense part of the woods where sunlight fought to penetrate the thick, leafy canopy. He was at home here, the shadows welcoming friends who embraced and protected.

Michael seemed intent on keeping their arduous pace; he showed no signs of fatigue. She wondered how his black garb did not become burdensome when the sun pierced the heavy foliage and grew more potent with the day.

She wished she could call out to him to let him know she needed water and food. A sprinkle of perspiration marked her forehead. If she could pin up her long hair, pull it off her back and neck, it would be a welcoming relief. And rest—oh, how she wished she could rest if only for a moment.

He stopped suddenly and Mary almost collided with him. He stood still and listened, and she did the same, hoping to hear what had caught his attention, praying it was not footsteps.

It took a moment but she heard the familiar sound and smiled. It was faint but distinct—a brook or stream. She wanted to run fast, cup handful after handful of water to drink and splash on her face. She eagerly turned, ready to find the stream.

Michael took hold of her arm. “We must be careful. Any who travel will look for water to refresh themselves and we must not be seen.”

They made their way cautiously toward the sounds and, after Michael made certain they were alone, walked to the stream.

Mary immediately dropped down, cupped some water and did not stop drinking until her thirst was quenched. Then she proceeded to wash her face. The water felt refreshingly cool against her warm skin.

From the corner of her eye she saw Michael scoop water into his ungloved hand and drink. This was the first time she caught a hint of flesh. She was surprised to see that his skin was warm in color, not pale as one would expect, as he spent his days completely shrouded from the sun.

He finished quickly, reached for the glove beside him on the ground, and stood. “I will find food.”

She nodded eagerly and returned to rinsing her face with the cool water. When she finished she combed her tangled hair with her fingers as best she could. Mary then looked for a twig; picking one off the ground, she twisted her hair up onto her head and threaded the sturdy stick through the knot. She retrieved from the loose hem her stones, then fashioned a pouch with the corner of her tunic, knotting it to keep the them in place. She tucked one stone in her belt, ready and handy to use when necessary. She felt refreshed.