Free Protector of the Flame by Isis Rushdan

her legs and sprinted for the light.
    Numbness seeped through her calf up to her thigh. She crashed to the ground. Her left knee slammed into the rock floor. Crushing pain exploded. Her right leg grew limp as if falling asleep—no, worse—she couldn’t feel it at all. She climbed to her feet.
    Glancing over her shoulder, she pressed on, dragging her leg.
    The dark figure sauntered toward her, taking his time, keeping plenty of space between them, fading in and out of sight like some unholy phantom.
    Icy paralysis crawled up her left side. She fell again. Both legs were dead. She pulled herself forward on her forearms. She began to lose all feeling below the waist. Pervasive numbness swept through her core, chest, arms and face.
    Completely paralyzed, unable to blink, she stared at the frozen white ground.
    The man flipped her over and brushed hair from her face. He stared at her for a moment and then tossed her over his shoulder.
    A Paladin. An ordinary battle-guard of Sekhem wouldn’t have gotten by Spero so easily.
    Strapped to the slight man’s body, she watched the ground pull away, helpless, while he quickly scaled the rock wall. She dangled hundreds of feet above the rock floor with only a Paladin captor to keep her from plummeting.
    He bolted over frosty landscape, never slowing, without apparent fatigue from her added weight.
    Her torso swayed across his back. Black clad legs moved with inhuman speed, crossing miles of snow-covered ground in minutes.
    Tossed face up into the aisle of a cramped compartment, she made out the distinct interior of a small aircraft. The door closed, shutting out the frigid air and an engine started.
    Would the Paladins be merciful and only sterilize her?
    The fanatical warriors weren’t known for mercy. Yet she lived, for the moment.
    Twenty minutes ago she couldn’t stomach the idea of never giving Cyrus a child. Now, she’d sacrifice anything if it meant she could spend the rest of her days at his side.

Chapter Nine
    The jet touched down on the remote landing strip deep within the Himalayas. As they coasted inside the fortified hangar, Cyrus unbuckled his seatbelt, ready as he ever would be to face his Council. Returning to the confines of this House, to their smothering clutches—the chosen son, the Blessed Kindred who would save them—was an inevitability he couldn’t escape.
    But not once had he imagined it’d be under these circumstances.
    The Triumvirate would bombard him with questions. None of his answers would appease them. How the situation would look in their eyes was fiercely clear. He’d come so close to achieving Herut’s goals. Only to fail.
    He glanced at his watch and wondered if Serenity had made it safely to Iceland by now. There was no telling the speed of Aten’s subs and Vainamoinen had given no further insight into the length of the journey other than they’d arrive at daybreak. Straightening the suit he’d changed into, he walked down the stairs of the plane into the cool hangar.
    An exuberant mob of acolytes bowed before rushing him, throwing rose petals and singing praises.
    “Glory be, you’ve returned to us!”
    “Praise the Creator, you found your kabashem . At last, the curse will be broken!”
    “Where is Lady Serenity?”
    Their smiles and tributes twisted something inside his chest, stealing his breath. Facing his Triumvirate he’d prepared for, but this…
    Cyrus stormed through the crowd of well-wishers, trampling their elation with his silence. Four battle-guard warriors bowed their heads in respect as he marched through the open reinforced doors into the majestic halls of House Herut.
    The lustrous marble walls and floor glowed as if radiating light in celebration. Even the semi-precious stones exquisitely inlaid in the massive pillars stretching more than forty feet somehow shined brighter than he remembered.
    More smiles, bows and utterances of praise to drive the knife deeper into his heart.
    His gaze fell on the deadpan face