Oathbreaker
The train jolted to a halt at the next station and Tori sagged against Leonardo, feeling weak as the adrenaline keeping her going ran out. Leo smoothly pulled up his hood and scooped up her legs, cradling her tight. He dashed out as the doors slid open, sprinted to the end of the platform and leapt onto the tracks, disappearing into the darkness.
Two side branchings later, he stopped in an alcove to check on her. His chest was heaving, though it wasn't from exertion. Tori weighed practically nothing.
She lifted her face as he looked down. He nodded once, acknowledging she was still conscious.
Slowly his breathing eased. The rage drained away and intelligence returned to his steely gaze. His eyes softened as she shivered. He set her down, swung off his cloak and wrapped her in it. Much larger than her own, it felt like a blanket enveloping her small form.
Kneeling next to her, he rubbed his hands over her arms, then dug in his sash seeking bandages for her neck and side.
"You came back," he said as he worked a long strip of gauze around her waist, applying pressure to the slash in her side.
"You thought I wouldn't?" she asked.
He closed his eyes and pain swept over his features, but he answered truthfully. He was always honest with her.
"Yes. Why did you return?"
Tori's heart skipped a beat.
He claimed me as his wife. Does he really not want me here?
His voice said one thing, but his body another. She could see the emotion in the way his pulse pounded in his neck, feel it as his gentle fingers bandaged her.
"You commanded me to go, so I went," she explained hollowly. "You told me to stay away and I did. Because I swore an oath. To love, honor, and... obey."
"But you came back," he admonished her.
She sucked in a breath and gritted her teeth as he brushed back her hair and blotted the bite mark on her neck. She knew the bastard broke the skin. Before the bloodbath, she'd felt her own trickling down the front of her shirt.
"You swore one too," she said. "Do you remember?"
He frowned. "Of course."
"You asked me to wait for you"—her voice waivered—"I waited for years. You promised you'd call me back when the danger passed."
"Does this look safe to you?" he demanded.
He waved an arm angrily, referring to the train they'd just left, the dead man, and the huddled masses wrapped in miss-matched clothes trying to pretend the didn't see her under attack.
She shook off his cloak, leaned up, and cupped a hand to his cheek.
"I came back because I haven't heard from you in more than a year! Not a single word. The letters just stopped. I didn't even know if you lived! Or if you still...wanted a wife. I thought... maybe I had been replaced."
"Never!"
His harsh response made her jump, but his eyes were damp as he turned his head and buried his lips in her palm, sealing the vow with a soft kiss. He took her hand in his and tenderly tucked it back inside the protection of his cloak.
She knew he spoke the truth, but she couldn't stop herself from asking.
"Then why was I 'one' of yours on the train?"
"One of my scouts!" he protested.
"It didn't sound that way," she muttered.
"It was a strategy to get the man to back off. Many of the males here have reverted to almost caveman ideals. The more women they possess the more powerful they are. It was only an implication."
It was paranoid, but still, she probed him.
"Do you always respond to your scouts returning personally? Or just the females?"
"Victoria," he said, exasperated, "I simply received a message saying a female scout returned to the city with a description of your clothes. I don't have many women in my employ and none of them were expected to report back this month so I went to the meeting myself in case it was an emergency."
He raised her chin on a finger to meet his eyes. They were horribly conflicted. Joy at her presence bound up with horror at her injury. Fierce desire fought with the need to send her away, safe again. Under it all, however, burned truth and adoration.
"I've never wanted anyone but you, love. I've never betrayed you. I never will."
Tori shook her head, her eyelids drooping.
"But you did," she whispered.
Leonardo's eyes skimmed her in the dim lighting of the tunnel, trying to understand what she meant.
Why does she feel that way?
At one time, he knew every curve and silhouette of her body. Could identify her in a crowd from fifty feet away, no matter what she wore. Could read her mood from the tilt of her head. Now, she acted so vastly different he couldn't tell what she was thinking.
He almost hadn't recognized her on the train, even when he saw her face. But the electric shock of her eyes set his instincts aflame and pushed him into protective overdrive.
It was his worst nightmare come to life. He'd seen it too many times—men growing bold under Shredder's regime. Taking advantage of their power over women in public while no one helped the victim.
He couldn't bear to think of that happening to his beloved. It was the main reason he'd sent her from the city.
Yet there she stood in the middle of the subway. Trapped in the arms of a despicable man. Crushed into his chest, being forcibly fondled.
Then the bastard pulled a knife on her. Rage—purifying and clear—had wiped his mind, coiled his muscles tight, and brought him to the edge of sanity. There had been only one thing to do.
Free her by any means necessary.
He did not regret the man's death in the slightest, but Victoria looked like she was going into shock. Shaking, despite the extra layer of outerwear. He rubbed his palms over her biceps again, trying to heat them with friction.
The temperature in the tunnels hovered near freezing and even with his cloak she was not warming up fast enough. When she didn't show signs of immediate improvement he lifted her again.
"Come with me," he said. "There are better places to talk."
On closer examination, he wished he hadn't stopped for so long. Her lips were pale, her face pasty. Now in his right mind, he realized she weighed almost nothing in his arms.
Like those sickly humans on the surface, she had been eviscerated. With a fresh wound, shock, and emotional betrayal weighing on her—she was just a breath away from leaving him altogether.
Our argument could have killed her.
His heart dropped into his stomach in horror and his pulse shifted into high gear. He ran. Harder and faster than he ever had before.
Victoria was almost unconscious by the time they reached the nearest safe house—a simple, underground room hidden in the sewer system. It held a small wood stove, a supply of food, and a futon piled with blankets and cushions .
He buried her in the soft bedding to preserve her warmth and built up a fire with frantic speed.
"Victoria," he murmured as he worked. "Stay with me. Talk to me."
"Victoria?" she repeated, somewhat bemused. "She's long gone."
Leonardo froze briefly at that but quickly resumed his task, not looking at her so she would keep speaking. The flames were soon lit and as the room warmed he turned to making something hot to feed her. Canned soup was all he had.
It will have to do.
His earlier once over of her condition frightened him, but he didn't dare unwrap her for a closer examination until the place heated fully. He frowned at his hands. They were shaking and he twisted so his shell hid them from her view.
"What do you mean?" he asked to keep her present.
"Victoria was a pretty young girl, brimming with self-confidence. She found her heart's desire. And despite the world going to hell in a handbasket, believed her life would be ok. Because she had a husband who loved her. A ninja to be reckoned with. One with a brilliant, strategic mind who would always watch her back."
He shivered. Though the description sounded flattering, the harshness with which she voiced the words made them feel like blows.
The soup boiled and he poured some in a thick ceramic bowl, digging around for a spoon. All the while trying to decide why she would speak of them this way.
She barely found the strength to sit up when he brought her the food and she shook too much to use the utensil. He took it back from her gently and dipped it in the broth, blowing over the top to cool it before carefully spooning it between her lips. After several quiet bites he paused and glanced guiltily away, almost afraid to ask.
"What happened to her?"
He winced at his own choice of words.
Using the third person, as if 'Victoria' somehow passed away felt wrong, but it was easier to follow her lead than to protest. She reached for his chin and tilted his face back to hers.
"Leo, you sent her away and broke off all contact"—her voice faltered—"What did you think would happen? Victoria died a little every single day, waiting for a summons that never came. Her world ended. She's gone. Only the ashes are left. Only Tori."
"No," he protested, but she shook her head.
"She spent all our hoarded cash. Harassed every courier who passed through the village for messages. Every waking moment she worked for spare change, a crust of bread. Eking out a meager living, not daring to leave and search for a better position in case you called for her return."
Her eyes became haunted and he couldn't look away.
"Hunger isn't restricted to the city, Leo. Or the boldness of men."
For a while, they stared at each other in silence. As he fed her the last of the soup, his mind raced over everything she said.
I wasn't unfaithful, but I betrayed her just the same.
He should have sent for her the moment he realized the war was going to stretch long past his initial estimates. It didn't matter that he believed she was safer elsewhere, beyond the immediate reach of the Shredder. Or if he thought it kinder to let their communication lapse than to encourage her hopes with false words.
He was wrong. He abandoned her to the very perils he hoped to protect her from. Left her to face them alone. In effect, he forswore his oaths to guard and cherish her.
Overcome with remorse, he clenched his teeth and unwrapped the blankets to evaluate the rest of the damage. He peeled off both cloaks and let his eyes roam searchingly over her. It was hard to ignore all the blood but he would have to wait until she stabilized to bathe her.
She was rail thin, all muscle gone. No doubt because she was starving. Her skin flaked, her eyes were dull and dry. She was dangerously dehydrated.
He grimaced as guilt and anger burned through him. While the rebels weren't exactly eating well, none of them were hungry. They had stockpiles of canned foods and raided water from Shredder's supply lines regularly.
Her face was disfigured. Identical slashes crossed her cheeks. His heart clenched at what they implied. He raised a finger to trace one gingerly and his eyes darkened when she flinched away.
Victoria knew how to care for herself after an injury. To have formed those scars, she must have been prevented. Which meant whoever marked her did so on purpose, staking a claim. He'd seen similar scoring on the street. Usually covering the faces of souls so damaged they would never recover.
A furious growl rumbled its way from the back of his throat.
She reached up, removing his hand from her face and the blue bandage on her wrist caught his gaze. He recognized it instantly as one of his own masks. He hadn't realized she took it with her and guilt slammed into him again. She needed it, a reminder of him. The vow on her arm wasn't enough—for he had broken it.
The way she used it told him she had another recent injury, at best a sprain. He recalled the thug on the train deliberately twisted it and was suddenly fiercely glad the man was dead.
"Vic— Tori," he corrected himself, "Who hurt you?"
She laughed, low and guttural, but there was no joy in it.
"Leo, everyone hurts me."