Burning Dawn

by Gena Showalter

  "And how do you suggest we do that?" His voice had changed, going low and husky.

  With arousal? Attraction?

  Please, no. She'd never be able to resist him then. And if she couldn't resist him...goodbye, job. Goodbye, moneybags. Goodbye, new friends.

  Goodbye, Thane.

  "I'll show you." She handed the cake to the guard at the end of the hall. "Do me a favor and throw this in the trash. Do yourself a favor and never taste it." Then, in front of Thane again, she held out her hand. When he hesitated--why had his mood shifted so suddenly?--she added, "Go on. Take it. This sweet little human isn't leading you into an ambush, I promise."

  Frowning, he curled his fingers around hers. There was a shock through her system at the moment of contact, but it was expected. It had happened before. And yet, she still trembled as she tugged him through the building--or rather, the maze, as she'd begun calling it--and to the backyard.

  She never would have pictured a garden growing from a cloud, but stranger things had happened, she supposed.

  "Sit," she commanded, waving toward the only bench. The stone structure looked as if it had grown straight out of the ground. Ivy clung to the legs, and a rose bloomed just over the right corner.

  He severed contact and sat. Those lovely wings arched away from him, the gold-tipped ends brushing over the ground. The sun cast golden beams directly on him, paying tribute to his raw, masculine beauty, and making him look as though he'd smuggled diamond flecks in his pores.

  "I didn't mean on the bench," she said with a grin, "but in front of the bench."

  His frown returned as he lowered to a crouch.

  She knelt beside him. "Now, do you see this?" She plucked a weed from the dirt. "It and everything like it are weeds. Weeds are bad. But those," she said, pointing to the flower stems, "those are good. Right now, bad is murdering good, so we've got to go to war and help."

  Horror dawned on his features. "A fancy way of saying I am to...garden?" He shuddered.

  "You'll be doing more than that, thank you. You'll be saving something beautiful."

  He studied her. "Removing weeds is that important to you?"

  "It's critical. And not just to me." Drawing a parallel, Thane? Because you totally should. My hints aren't that subtle.

  Better question: Are you drawing a parallel for yourself, Vale? Survivor's guilt is a big, thick weed with sharp thorns.

  Whatever.

  As they worked, she tried not to notice the way Thane's muscles strained under his robe. She failed, and by the time they finished two hours later--the area around the bench cleared of weeds--all of Elin's girlie parts were desperate for attention.

  Want him, they shouted.

  Well, too bad. You can't have him.

  But...but...he was so close...so beautiful...so obviously skilled with his hands. How easy it would be to lean into him and offer her mouth for the possession of his. She would lead at first, because he would be surprised, but then his desire would get the better of him and he would take over. He would taste her and touch her and urge her to her back. He would--

  Blimey. Stop!

  She cleared her throat. "While you're working, it's hard to tell you've accomplished anything, right? All you can see are the things you have left to do. But then, suddenly, ta-da. This happens." The finished product. And it was better than she could have hoped. The colorful vines were thriving at long last.

  He nodded, giving nothing away.

  She anchored her fists on her hips. "Next time, would you rather I relax you by teaching you how to bake a cake?"

  "So that there will be two of us capable of gagging my patrons? No."

  The dryness of his tone drew a snort out of her. "See Mr. Serious tease Ms. Crocker," she mumbled, but inside, she rejoiced. Her plan had worked! The bleakness had left him. He actually sported an air of satisfaction in a job well done. "I'll improve. You just wait and see."

  "Kulta, you couldn't get any worse."

  She laughed with startling delight. "You never told me what kulta means."

  His eyes glowed with a triumph she didn't understand. "I probably never will."

  As if that would stop her from guessing. "'Witch'?"

  "No."

  "'Naughty girl'?"

  "Not even close."

  "'Honey bear sugar pop'?"

  His smile was a slow bloom, revealing dimples that dazzled her.

  She sputtered for a moment. "You...you... Thane, you have dimples." As if he didn't know! They were more adorable than a panda holding a baby kitten.

  "I do?"

  Wait. He didn't know? "You really do."

  The dimples made another appearance. She shivered, suddenly aware that sweat had made her pj's cling to her skin. Her aching, tingling skin.

  "Do you like dimples?" he asked.

  Way too much. "Sure." She pushed to her feet, determined to put a little distance between them. "Well, I had better go and get my snooze on. You know how important beauty z's can be."

  He opened his mouth, closed it. His gaze raked over her, and he scowled. "Go, then."

  O-kay. Total mood shift. Again. For no reason!

  She flicked her hair over one shoulder. "Just in case you missed it, the entire point of this exercise was to drive home the fact that everyone has weeds in their life. Including you. You need to yank them out--before it's too late."

  *

  THE NEXT EVENING, Thane had several boxes of chocolate delivered to Elin's room.

  Of course, he immediately had to deal with sender's remorse. What was he doing? Courting her?

  Hardly!

  But he couldn't get her and her parting words out of his mind. What weeds did she have? He had to know.

  He stomped through his suite, stripped when he entered the bathroom, and ducked under the shower spray.

  His kind didn't need to bathe. Robes kept them clean from top to bottom, removing everything but a stain on the soul. Or, as Elin would say, the weeds. But there were times, like now, when he needed to feel the hot slide of water against his skin.

  His entire world was being turned upside down.

  Taunting Kendra yesterday might have given him a measure of satisfaction--after the first burst of discontent--but it hadn't lasted long, and guilt had taken its place. A guilt that had later proved to be kindling for the rage constantly brewing inside him, stoking it higher and hotter. Why should he feel guilty for doling out like for like?

  Because Kendra, too, must have weeds?

  He didn't want to think about that.

  Instead, he pondered Elin, with her sweet smile and terrible cake.

  She didn't know it, but she created desserts to keep her husband's memory alive, not because she enjoyed doing it, and certainly not because she had a talent for it. He grinned as he recalled the shock of having salted strawberries, eggshell, and an overload of vanilla on his tongue. He'd tried to hide his reaction, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but she'd been so good-natured about the whole thing, he'd just had to tease her.

  Him. Teasing a female. It was inconceivable!

  He only hoped she let go of her "dream" of baking while making countless desserts for the bar's patrons.

  If--when--she did, he could put her in charge of the gardens. He could even help her. Shockingly enough, he'd liked having his hands in the dirt and the sun on his skin. Not so shockingly, he'd liked having a beautiful woman at his side, his muscles straining, his mind focused on a single goal.

  What he hadn't liked was Elin's casual disregard afterward. When she'd stood and announced she was leaving him, he'd wanted to curse. More and more, parting with her required an inner strength he didn't possess. And yet, she always seemed to do it with ease.

  He shut off the water with more force than necessary, then tugged on a new robe. The slam of a door caught his attention. He drew a sword of fire as he marched from the stall.

  Bjorn, who had been absent longer than ever before, according to Xerxes, made it only a few feet away from
the entrance before dropping to his knees and bowing his head. Thane dismissed the sword and rushed over. Xerxes was there a second later, and together, they helped their friend to his feet.

  "Bathroom," Bjorn croaked.

  Acting as crutches, they led him to where he wanted to go and eased him to the tiled floor. Bjorn crawled to the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach, reminding Thane of Xerxes's reaction to a sexual encounter.

  Thane held his hair out of the line of fire, hating the fact that there was nothing he could do to alleviate the male's discomfort. He met Xerxes's gaze. Did he look as bleak and grim as the warrior?

  "What happens to you when you leave us?" Thane whispered.

  Silence. Expected.

  Xerxes washed Bjorn's face with a cool rag. "No matter what, we're here for you."

  Again, silence.

  Thane guided his friend to bed. A single, sharp breath stopped him from pulling up the covers.

  "Wings," Bjorn said, and Thane helped the warrior to his stomach.

  He smoothed dark locks of hair from the male's face, and looked over the white-gold wings. There was no sign of--

  Foul play. There. A wound on each side of the thick, corded arch, crusted with black, oozing a slight trickle of blood. As if clamps, or metal claws, had held him in place.

  Rage returned in a flash. Wherever it was Bjorn went, he suffered. Something had to be done, and soon.

  Together, Thane and Xerxes cleaned and bandaged him. They sat at his sides, talking about anything, everything, and absolutely nothing until some of the tension drained from the warrior.

  "Do you remember the time you had to cloak your wings with an air pocket and walk through the streets of New York, visible to all as you tracked a demon-possessed heiress?" Xerxes said to Bjorn. "You were approached by three scouts hoping to make you the next supermodel. Had it been me, I would have had five scouts approach me. Scars are so this season."

  The warrior's mouth twitched at one side.

  "Maybe," Thane said. "But little-girl cherub curls and bad attitudes beat scars any day, which means I would have had ten scouts after me."

  As they argued amicably about who was more attractive, Bjorn relaxed enough to drift off to sleep.

  Thane and Xerxes shared a look rife with tension, all hint of good humor gone.

  "I'll stay with him," Xerxes whispered. "I'll take care of him."

  "As will I."

  "No." Pale hair danced over the male's wide shoulders as he shook his head. "The other Sent Ones are due to arrive. You're needed downstairs."

  His hands fisted. He wanted to protest. He couldn't. His friend was right.

  He nodded stiffly. "Send for me if any problems arise."

  "Of course."

  He forced himself to walk away.

  Despite Elin's threat to poor tippers, the bar was packed again tonight. The cacophony of voices quickly grated against his already frayed nerves, the female ones vying for his attention the worst of all.

  "Thane! I heard you were hot, but, oh, baby, you're smoking."

  "Sweet, it's Thane. Hey, Thane, look at me. Look at what I can do. I'm very bendy."

  "Thane! Thane! I have five words for you. I'll. Let. You. Do. Anything."

  If he walked away from this night without committing murder, he would consider it a win.

  Thane stopped at Adrian's side. The berserker was on high alert as he watched the night's activities from his usual corner.

  "I need the corner room." As he spoke, he searched the crowd for Elin.

  She stood at a table of warlocks, her profile to him. Luscious little human. Her hair was twisted into a knot at the crown of her head, and she had flour on her cheeks. But her uniform looked smaller than before, and that wasn't okay.

  Surely she was cold.

  "She needs a robe," he told the berserker.

  "I'll make sure she gets one."

  She held up a cake as lopsided as the last one, doing her best to tempt the males to taste.

  One of the warlocks was more interested in her body. He smoothed a hand over her backside.

  Thane was halfway across the room, ready to push over the table and tear the warlock to shreds, before he realized what he was doing and reluctantly backtracked. If Elin wanted the warlock's attention, she could have it.

  She better not want his attention.

  He watched as she slapped the male's hand away and wagged her finger in his face. The warlock pouted, but didn't try anything further.

  Thane forced himself to relax. "Has anyone bought one of her desserts?"

  "Yes," Adrian replied. "And they've all demanded refunds, plus a little something extra for damages."

  Not surprising. "Buy whatever she has left and put it on my table." If it would make her smile, he would eat every bite. And so would his troops. "For the rest of the night, she's to serve me, and only me."

  The warrior blinked in amazement, but offered no commentary.

  "Oh," Thane added, almost as an afterthought. Almost. "Remove the young warlock's hand."

  "But, sir--"

  "This isn't a debate. Are you becoming too soft, Ad? We both know he'll grow another one."

  Adrian nodded. "And what do I cite as his crime?"

  Thane thought for a moment. "He touched what's mine."

  *

  ELIN STEPPED INTO the secluded room located in the far corner of the bar, trying not to project her nervousness. Hiding her origins from Thane, Bjorn, Xerxes and all the patrons of the bar was one thing. Trying to hide her origins from a roomful of trained killers was quite another.

  Sooner or later I'm going to be found out.

  Her gaze sought Thane of its own accord. Strong, beautiful Thane, with the irresistible dimples. So badly she wanted to believe he wouldn't care about her mixed heritage, that he would protect her, whatever happened. And maybe that wasn't as vain a hope as she feared. The guy had sent her several boxes of chocolates. Who did that? A sweet, romantic man, that was who.

  Of course, he'd pretended she didn't exist ever since, so...

  Best behavior, Vale. No one will know. You've got this. She focused on his majorly hawt friends. And, wow. Just wow. No wonder Bellorie had practically foamed at the mouth with jealousy.

  For a moment, Elin could only gawk.

  There was a big--huge...huger even than Adrian, if huger was even a word--Viking with long dark hair and a thick black beard drawn together in the center by three little beads.

  There was a set of twins, with a clear Asian heritage. One rocked out with a green Mohawk, tats and piercings, but the other was all business, with slicked-back hair and a clean-shaven jaw.

  Then there was Voted Most Beautiful Man Ever to Live--if he hadn't been, he totally should be...and only if the sexy chocolate peddler known as Thane was taken out of the running. He had black hair and piercing blue eyes.

  Had she found a better candidate than the love-'em-and-leave-'em Merrick?

  "Nice fire-creepers you've got on your lawn," Most Beautiful said to Thane.

  Fire-creepers. A derogatory name for Phoenix. Along with flame-whore, hellmongrel, and grave-challenged. She had no love for the race and took no offense.

  Thane gave a stiff nod before scooping a slice of her most recent confection onto several different plates. Would he like it? Or hate it?

  Reviews had come in throughout the evening.

  I've eaten tastier dirt.

  My compliments to the chef. I didn't think anything was worse than my mother-in-law's dung-beetles casserole.

  He would hate it.

  Gah! Frustration threatened to overtake her, but she resisted it. Soon she would hit her groove, and everyone would eat their words--along with her desserts! She just had to keep at it.

  The female sitting next to Thane smiled with cold delight before handing him a stack of papers. She had curly jet-black hair, dark flawless skin, and eyes of the most startling ocher. "The list is completed."

  The list? What list? All th
e ways she wanted to make love with Thane?

  Elin experienced a sudden urge to go alley cat on the girl. There would be hissing, biting and clawing.

  Real mature, Vale.

  "We'll devise a plan of attack after the drinks arrive," Thane replied.

  My cue. "Uh, hey, everyone. I'm here to serve, so let's hear those orders."

  His gaze finally met hers, desperately intent, and she shivered. For a moment, the rest of the world blurred. Hate when this happens...because I love it so much. She became hyperaware of her boss, could see his chest rising and falling with his breaths, could feel the heat radiating from him.

  Her body responded instinctively. Her breasts began to ache, and her belly quivered. Her lungs constricted, and wave after wave of drugging warmth spilled through her veins, pooling between her legs. The air thinned, charging with excitement and anticipation.

  Thane stood, his stance aggressive, his jaw clenched. He was pure testosterone and...need? As if he battled the urge to drag her away by the hair.

  Did he want her? The way she wanted him?

  Please, please, please.

  No. Not please!

  Someone chuckled. "O-kay. This is halfway to awkward."

  Scowling, Thane tore his attention away from her and sat back down.

  Good. That was good. She could breathe again. The only difference was, her skin was more sensitive...tingling, aching, as if she and Thane were back in that garden, sitting beside each other, within reach.

  The stilted conversations she wished she'd tried to listen to instead of spacing out like a love-struck teenager had ceased, she realized. All eyes were glued to her.

  "Where's your robe?" Thane asked.

  So. He knew Adrian had tried to foist one off on her. "It's stuffed in a potted plant, where I'd like it to remain." A robe meant lower tips. "Now, then. What can I get you guys to drink?"

  "How about a nice, tall glass of you, pretty girl," said Most Beautiful.

  "Like I haven't heard that one before," she muttered.

  "Ouch. Okay, I'll step up my game. Or not. I know that you noticed me," he continued smoothly. "Everyone does." A slow, seductive grin curved his sensuous mouth. It was an invitation to attend the party in his pants, no doubt about it. "Now the only question left to answer is what time you'd like to get off. Because I'll make sure it happens. Twice."