Navarredrew in a deep breath, his nostrils filling with a thousand scents and odors, his mind racing to sort them all out. The fragrant scent of grass and flowers and earth, the musty stench of a dead animal lying in the brush, the heavy odor of manure and stale sweat, the not unpleasant smell of horses and cattle, sheep and cows.
He shook his head, hoping to clear it, but the sounds and scents continued to assault him. And then voices poured into his mind - a man and woman whispering in the distant shadows, the chanting of the priests coming from the chapel at Stone Hall Abbey, a baby's cry, a mother's lullaby. He heard the lowing of cattle, the faint fluttering of wings as an owl passed overhead, a horse pawing the earth, the clang of a bell, the scrape of a boot heel, the sound of footsteps growing nearer.
And then his whole being focused on a single scent.
The scent of blood. Warm. Fresh.
He swung around, his nostrils flaring, his mouth watering, And then he was running through the darkness, overcome by an ancient urge that he could neither control nor resist.
The man reared back, his eyes wide with fright, whenNavarre appeared at his side.
Navarresaw it all in a glance: the terror in the man's eyes, the bright red blood dripping from the man's arm where he had cut it while trying to right an overturned cart. Blood that seemed to shimmer and glow with a life of its own.
He saw it and smelled it, and then, with a low growl, he was on the man, his hands holding the peasant immobile while he bent over the creature's neck, his teeth, suddenly aching, piercing the man's throat, unleashing a torrent of crimson.
The blood poured down his own throat, hot and thick and rich, carrying the essence of life. He felt the violent pounding of the man's heart, tasted his fear, felt the man's very soul ebb away...
Navarretossed the man aside, a cry of horror rising in his throat when he realized what he'd done. He stared at the blood on his hands, felt the blood trickling down his chin, tasted the last, moist drops on his tongue.
Filled with self-loathing, he dropped to his knees, his face buried in his hands. What had he done? What had he become, that the scent of blood had driven him to attack a man and drain him of life?
Sickened, he knelt there for hours, trying to comprehend the changes that had come upon him. His hearing was keen, his vision vastly improved, so that even the darkness held no secrets. And his strength... he recalled how easily he had overpowered the man.
And the blood... Even the horror of what he'd done couldn't completely obliterate the ecstacy that had come to him when he... His stomach clenched as he relived what he had done. He had torn open the man's throat and drunk his blood. It had been like absorbing the very essence of another human being, embracing his hopes and dreams. Only he wasn't human anymore.
Slowly,Navarre rose to his feet. And then, with no effort at all, he righted the heavy cart with a flip of his wrist. It took even less effort to lift the body and place it inside.
Confused and afraid, he stared at his hands. He felt strong. He felt as though he could tear down mountains, as if he could run forever without tiring, as if he could fly...
Mind reeling, he walked toward the white-domed building that held Katlaina and his son.
Nearing a stream, he paused long enough to wash the blood from his face and hands, and then, taking a deep breath, he approached the building.
He had no trouble getting past the guards on the first floor. No trouble finding the room that held Katlaina and the babe. The door was locked, but it was useless against the power of his hands.
And then he was in her room, crossing the floor, gazing down at the bed where she slept, the child cradled against her breast. An oil lamp, turned low, cast its pale yellow light over the curve of her cheek.
"Katlaina."
Her eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, she stared at him. And then she frowned.
"Navarre?"
He nodded.
"But... how can it be?"
"Katlaina."
She sat up, her long black hair spilling over her shoulders, her green eyes filled with hope and doubt. "Is it really you?"