Free 97 (Rise of the Battle Bred) by V. L. Holt Page B

calling my mom a couple times from our house phone, but she never answered. I paced in the living room, and made myself chocolate milk. A knock came on the door. I ran to it and felt instant relief to see William standing there. He had my phone in his hand. I let him in.
    “You found my phone!” I grabbed it and looked it over. It was scratched up, but otherwise intact. “This is a freakin’ miracle,” I murmured to myself. I looked up at him. “Thanks, William.”
    He shuffled his feet a little. For a gigantic mountain of a guy, he sure came across as a shy little boy sometimes.
    “Sit down,” I told him. He sat on the couch and I took the chair Crady sat in earlier. “Tell me how you got hurt,” William looked at me for a second then looked away.
    He cleared his throat. “Look, I can’t tell you what happened to Mick. I got there after,” he inhaled. “After he was attacked. He has some deep wounds. But I know they’re not fatal!” He rushed to tell me when I felt my face go pale.
    I frowned at him. “But I saw you…” I told him. “I saw you fighting or something. There were blue flames. There was steel.”
    William shook his head. “I don’t know what you saw. All I can say is that you saved Mick by calling for help and coming so quickly.”
    I couldn’t understand why William was lying to me. I knew what I saw. I cocked my head at him, frowning. “Well then,” I stared at him, waiting for some weakness…some sign that he would relent and tell me the truth, but he didn’t open his mouth. “Thanks again for getting my phone. These things aren’t cheap,” I stood up, indicating by my body language, that he should go. I was not feeling happy that he was hiding something from me. If it wasn’t for what I had seen with my own eyes, I might even suspect William did something to Mick himself. William stood. And once again his bulk gave me pause.
    The memory of being carried in his arms flashed in my mind without invitation. I tamped down any emotion I might have felt from thinking about that and walked him to the door.
    William turned to me before he walked out. “I don’t want to hurt you,” That was it. That’s what he said to me before he walked out and walked down the street to his house. I watched him walk to his house. He had the grace of a big cat. He could be a lion.
    I remembered him doing Misrillet. Then I thought of what I had seen. It was like a dance. A dance and a fight. The Misrillet! I punched my hand against the wall. I knew it. He was fighting whatever had attacked Mick. Why would he deny that?  He had to know I would appreciate anyone who protected my cousin. I needed to talk to Mick.
     

19
    Zarastrid’s Log Day 201
    Zainel awakened us all in the early hours. The babe, thought to be dead, resurrected. Zainel’s efforts and magicks worked!  The Coven has triumphed in creating a wondrous race. Malleus Bellicus will triumph!
    With the attention diverted away from myself, I took the time to visit with Agnes.
    Our interview went thusly:
    “You’ve come to see the trophy of the Warlochs,” She said to me without emotion.
    “It wasn’t unexpected,” Even with her anger rolling off her face in waves, I felt the strangest yearning to hold her in my arms, as I did the day she found out she was carrying a child. But in the Coven’s best interest, such a display cannot happen again.
    She gave a sharp laugh.
    “No. Not at all. We all did what we came to do,” She shook her head, and then bent it to coo at the baby whose mouth was fixed at her breast. She murmured quietly; I couldn’t hear her words, and felt a keen jealousy toward the innocent would-be soldier.
    “You look well,” I told her.
    She slowly raised her eyes to me.
    “Why do you torture me?”  She asked simply.
    “Torture?”  I admit I raised my voice.
    She pierced me with her earnest eyes, freckled skin pinking up in a half-hearted anger directed at my person.
    “You give me gifts. Compliments. And the