Olivia jumped out of the car and ran past the police and Royal Marines. Emergency crews arrived. Talk was furious, and she caught a few morose looks. She ran faster into the tunnels, passing British troops. They didn’t look hopeful.
She rushed into the tunnel, the corridors wide and uneven. “Sebastian.” She ran to the right, trying to put their position in the caves with the tunnel and batteries. She saw several men at the torn wall, pulling rocks from the twisted metal. She slowed.
“Oh God, please.” Her throat burned, tears swelling.
Max threw aside rocks with a wild fury, his expression killing her.
“No, no!” She grabbed rocks, flinging them. “I did not reach this point in my life to lose him again. I wasn’t stupid this time, I wasn’t.” The weight of her grief sent her to her knees, sobbing and frantically tearing at the stones. Max came to her, pulling her from the ground, and she clutched him, sobbing. “He didn’t have to go after him.”
“Yes, I did.”
She looked up, banging her head with Max’s chin. She turned. The dark corridor was shadowed with searchlights, but she recognized his walk and ran to him. He opened his arms, taking her against his chest like an incoming round. She clung to him, crying.
“Don’t do that again!” She punched his back.
“Aww, jeez, don’t cry, honey.”
“Yeah, sure. Give me a minute.” She buried her face in his chest, sniffled, and he tipped her face up, brushing his thumb across her tears.
“I almost screwed it up. Sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
He smiled. “Be tough to love you if you didn’t.”
“Good thing I’m so magnanimous.” He grinned and she touched his face, his lips.
She loved him in her soul, down to her bones. Every cell of her body beckoned for his love, for a life with him and she was just feeling her relief when he said, “Missing this?”
She twisted, refusing to let him go, and saw the jade in his palm. “Oh my God.” It was one piece and cold. “We need to cover this somehow.”
“I don’t think it’s dangerous anymore.” He pressed it into her hands. She frowned at it, agreeing, then met his gaze. “You found your legend, cherie. You found the truth.”
“Yeah,” she said, thumbing the blood on his forehead. “I found more than that. I found my way back to you.” Her lip quivered a bit, and he moaned, kissed her, his mouth rolling slowly over hers. She clung, her fingers digging in as if to pull him inside her, his passion locking everything else out. With Sebastian, there was little room for much else. He crushed her in his arms, and she wanted only more of him, of his sexy smiles and dark looks. More endless nights in his arms.
She was meant to be with him, she understood that now. She had an Irish princess to thank for that. Because as far as second chances go, this one was legendary.
TWENTY-ONE
Thirty miles outside Moscow
Leonid slipped into the old barn and backed up against the wall. He waited for his eyesight to adjust to the darkness.
He didn’t know who he was meeting with, a danger in itself, but he was determined to learn who’d orchestrated Nevolin’s capture of the sub and the buyers for the missiles. Someone close to his office had leaked classified material to the krasnaya mafiya. A call made from Vlad Dovyestoff’s cell phone number brought him here. The number to trace had come from a source he could not confirm.
The nuclear warhead missiles were in Danish hands, inspected by the UN, the Americans, and Russia was paying the price for the renegade woman and her lover. The crimes of the Trident and the loss of a hundred family members of her crew on the Northern Lion had the people in an uproar. Russia had struck twice on her own people.
He felt the burden of his own blame.
The damage from protesters was more than a few buildings and parked cars. Russia’s future was uncertain and the president did little to ease their outrage. His reelection to office again would prove that corruption still reached his door. Several of his FSB colleagues had vanished, sinking into the underworld rather than face charges. The Security Council met with officials and had determined to conduct a complete review. He would never learn the truth, he thought, wanting nothing to do with it while the burden of the truth fell in his lap.
He drew his weapon, moving to the far right, near the horse stalls that had not been used in a two decades. He pushed between the rotting slats that carried the stench of age.
A figure left a stall, opening the gated door.
He kept in the shadows.
Instantly he recognized Golubev. Overweight and slovenly, the man waddled near. His hand was inside his coat pocket. On a weapon, Leonid assumed. Golubev was never far from his own defense. “You are an embarrassment to the Politburo.”
“I saved face for Russia. We were close and would have won if Commander Nevolin had not trapped the Trident. We could have annihilated the capitalists!”
Leonid thought it ironic that people like Golubev blamed capitalism. Corruption began with denying the people their livelihood and keeping it for themselves. If the government would leave the Russian people alone, Leonid knew in his bones, they would prosper. Russians didn’t need the government in their personal lives. But it was the way, he thought.
“The Americans?” he said, no longer trying to hide his disgust. “No, Golubev. Never. They would have retaliated and Russia would be worse off than we are now. You involved Agar, the krasnaya. Surely, you did not believe they would let these deaths go unanswered.”
“I did not bring them into it, she did!”
“Nevolin needed a connection to do that, someone to pave the way with Dovyestoff. Vlad has escaped, yet Agar is in the custody of the Americans.” He would be dead soon. The mafia would not allow this failure to go unpunished.
Golubev’s eyes widened and Leonid found a little pleasure in his panic.
He lifted the weapon.
“I did this for Russia!” Golubev pleaded.
“For your own pockets. Our president wishes it. And I obey orders.”
“Whose? Who gave this order?”
“I did.” He pulled the trigger two times. Each round met its target. Golubev could not move fast enough to avoid their strikes. His skull exploded first, the second bullet striking his chest, penetrating his heart. He fell forward like a slab of meat.
Leonid collected the shells, unscrewed the suppressor, then holstered the weapon. He crossed to the entrance and paused. His car sat alone, its warm hood still steaming against the frigid cold. His gaze never turned to the man tucked against the fir trees.
“It is done.”
“That how you Russians answer every problem? With that?” He inclined his head to the barn, but Leonid knew he didn’t want an answer. “It’s not finished until we find the person who paid for this. We won’t let it.”
He turned his head to look at the man. He was younger and vital, and Leonid felt a measure of intimidation. He appeared prepared to kill him right now.
“Agar is talking.”
It mattered little to Leonid. “I fear we will never find the person.” The millions given, spent, led them to accounts in Switzerland and the Grand Cayman Islands. The man responsible was only a number.
“We’ll find him.” He met his gaze. “He’s lost millions and the missiles, and I imagine he’s a little upset. He’ll strike again.” His lips curved in a smile and Leonid noticed the hint of old bruises. “This was all orchestrated to bring down the FSB.”
Leonid snapped a look at him.
“And to bring our countries to the brink of World War Three. He didn’t care if it was Russia or the United States who made the first strike. Ask yourself who’s powerful enough to destroy us all, Sodorov? Who wanted to sit back and watch us eat each other alive?”
The man didn’t wait for an answer and turned away, slipping into the forest.
Leonid walked to his car, Golubev’s beside it. From his trunk, he removed the parcel, then tossed it
inside the old barn. He climbed into his own vehicle and drove away. A half mile from the barn, he hit the detonator. On the horizon, any evidence went up in flames.
New Orleans
Two months later
The sun was unrelenting in a cloudless sky. The breeze off the water cooled the New Orleans heat, taking the fragrance of flowers on the wind. Around them were nearly a hundred people, frothy decorations, and a half dozen bridesmaids, but his world centered only on the woman declaring her love for him. Sebastian felt unhinged till this moment, but it was tough to keep a straight face when Olivia was crossing her eyes as the priest spoke.
Life was certainly going to be interesting again, and he was looking forward to it. He glanced at the waterfront filled with family and friends. Last time, the ceremony was over in five minutes. This time, it was full throttle.
Olivia’s mother was loving every second of it. Her dad didn’t look too unhappy either. But it was her brothers who amused the hell out of him. The hippie, anti-establishment brothers who gave him hell were grinning from ear to ear, two of them in Navy uniforms. Yup, definitely fascinating, he thought, meeting her gaze.
She took his breath away, her gown a vision in soft pale gold, fitted, hauntingly medieval and showing off a body he hungered for. Across her shoulder, she wore a little sash of her Corrigan tartan, and he thought the Maguire’s princess would be proud. Yet it was the look in her eyes that snagged him by the throat. Absolute love, faith, his trust. He could conquer anything if she just kept looking at him like that.
They exchanged rings and Olivia gasped when he slid on the rock. It was shaped like Ice Harvest, a smooth pale blue diamond he’d bought in Singapore and never knew why. She slipped on his band and he laced his fingers with hers, neither of them really listening till the priest declared them married. Again. He leaned in.
“Mine. Mine. Mine,” he said and she laughed softly, and he kissed her, sealing a vow to the only woman he’d ever loved. Till he’d seen her hovering over him in the alley, he never realized how much he’d missed her. How incomplete he was without her. She was the missing piece of his life, part of his soul he’d lost, and though he’d never believed in past lives, Sebastian understood—he’d loved her for centuries.
Loud cheers surrounded them as she drew back, and he recognized that mischievous gleam in her green eyes. “Rut-roh. What are you planning?”
“To make you a very happy man tonight.”
“Oh Livi, you already have.” Her eyes teared, and she kissed him again before they turned down the aisle. Old memories faded, new ones filling every moment with her. Then the somber music suddenly changed, and he laughed, pure delight spilling through him. She was such a rebel. Sebastian spun Olivia into his arms, dancing down the aisle and into to their new life—the King’s “Hunka Hunka Burning Love” leading the way.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
People often ask me where I get my ideas. It’s fiction—anything can spark it. Part of this story came from a photo in the May 2007 U.S. Navy magazine, All Hands. I would have never seen it if I hadn’t been in a Navy hospital waiting for an appointment. (Go Navy!) The picture was a cross section of a glacier with a submarine traveling beneath its jagged underside. It was Photoshopped, I’m sure, yet the image fascinated and scared the heck out of me. It was paired with a wonderful article, “Navigating the Frozen Sea,” by U.S. Navy MC1 Steven Smith, about U.S. submarines traveling under the arctic circle during Operation Ice Exercise (ICEX) with the UK Navy. Submariners have my deepest respect. That tour of duty takes bravery many of us, including me, don’t have.
Vikings invaded Ireland long before England. Kidnap, pillage, and plunder was the order of the day. Over the years, trading became more profitable, and hundreds of pieces of proof of Nordic tribes grace Ireland’s museums and private collections. I even saw it on eBay, provenance doubtful. The Celt and Nordic tribes found in China are a reality. The discoveries change the way we look at migration long before there were borders. More are being discovered as the polar ice cap grows smaller.
For more information try these sites:
www.giftofireland.com/Articlethree.htm
www.barnesreview.org/html/julyaug2000lead.html
The Kilbarron castle ruins are real, yet the friary is fictitious, as is the entire legend. However, those of you who’ve read my historical PenDragon series might recognize a connection. Yes, the Maguire in the legend is Ian, the same clan leader who caused Siobhan and Fionna a great deal of trouble. The legend is part of his love story, as yet unwritten. To Ireland, forgive my license with a bit of history. My fondest wish is never to offend anyone and just write a story that will take you places. I hope you’ve enjoyed Sebastian and Olivia’s story. Look for the final book in the Dragon One series soon.
Don’t miss Mary Wine’s BEDDING THE ENEMY, in stores now!
He was staring at her.
Helena looked through her lowered eyelashes at him. He was a Scot and no mistake about it. Held in place around his waist was a great kilt. Folded into pleats that fell longer in the back, his plaid was made up in heather, tan, and green. She knew little of the different clans and their tartans but she could see how proud he was. The nobles she passed among scoffed at him, but she didn’t think he would even cringe if he were to hear their mutters. She didn’t think the gossip would make an impact. He looked impenetrable. Strength radiated from him. There was nothing pompous about him, only pure brawn.
Her attention was captivated by him. She had seen other Scots wearing their kilts, but there was something more about him. A warm ripple moved across her skin. His doublet had sleeves that were closed, making him look formal, in truth more formal than the brocade-clad men standing near her brother. There wasn’t a single gold or silver bead sewn to that doublet, but he looked ready to meet his king. It was the slant of his chin, the way he stood.
“You appear to have an admirer, Helena.”
Edmund sounded conceited, and his friends chuckled. Her brother’s words surfaced in her mind and she shifted her gaze to the men standing near her brother. They were poised in perfect poses that showed off their new clothing. One even had a lace-edged handkerchief dangling from one hand.
She suddenly noticed how much of a fiction it was. Edmund didn’t believe them to be his friends, but he stood jesting with them. Each one of them would sell the other out for the right amount. It was so very sad. Like a sickness you knew would claim their lives but could do nothing about.
“A Scot, no less.”
Edmund eyed her. She stared back, unwilling to allow him to see into her thoughts. Annoyance flickered in his eyes when she remained calm. He waved his hands, dismissing her.
She turned quickly before he heard the soft sound of a gasp. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. It was such a curious reaction. Peeking back across the hall, she found the man responsible for invading her thoughts completely. He had a rugged look to him, his cheekbones high and defined. No paint decorated his face. His skin was a healthy tone she hadn’t realized she missed so much. He was clean-shaven, in contrast to the rumors she’d heard of Scotland’s men. Of course, many Englishmen wore beards. But his hair was longer, touching his shoulders and full of curl. It was dark as midnight, and she found it quite rakish.
He caught her staring at him. She froze, her heartbeat accelerating. His dark eyes seemed alive even from across the room. His lips twitched up, flashing her a glimpse of strong teeth. He reached up to tug lightly on the corner of his knitted bonnet. She felt connected to him, her body strangely aware of his, even from so great a distance. Sensations rippled down her spine and into her belly. She sank into a tiny curtsy without thought or consideration. It was a response, pure and simple.
And try THE FALCON PRINCE by Karen Kelley…
She needed to clear her head. Nothing in life mattered when she was out running. This was her time. She didn’t have to worry that people thought she was a little mentally off-balanced. She didn’t have to…
&nbs
p; A hawk swooped down, landing on the trail in front of her.
She came to a grinding halt, feet still running in place, and then stopping altogether.
What the hell? Hawks didn’t just land in front of people. And it should have taken off as soon as it spotted her.
Ria stared at the bird as she tried to catch her breath, bending over and resting her sweaty palms on her knees.
The hawk was magnificent, with a creamy white breast and speckled, dark brown wings that blended into black tips. The bird was so close she could see its sharp talons. Talons that were made for catching and holding prey. Something about this wasn’t good. Probably because the hawk still hadn’t moved. It stared at her as though it were silently trying to communicate. This was weird. No, it was more than weird.
Almost as weird as the thick fog rolling in. She straightened, her gaze flitting from tree to tree until she could no longer make them out. An icy chill raced down her back as if someone had run an ice cube over her spine.
Fog wasn’t that unusual. Right? It was early morning, and the trail behind her house was in a low spot. Except this fog wasn’t like any fog she’d ever seen. Kind of Friday the 13th creepy.
Alrighty, maybe this was her cue to leave.
Someone groaned, but the fog was so thick now she couldn’t see a thing. Ria hesitated. What if the hawk had been trying to tell her that his owner was hurt? That…that…
It had finally happened. She had completely lost her freakin’ mind.
But the fog began to dissipate enough that she could make out a man’s face. A very tall man. At least six-two. With short dark hair. Strong chin. Green eyes that studied her. Tanned skin. Muscular chest…
Her assessment came to a screeching halt.
Muscular bare chest.
The man stepped forward. “I’m Prince Kristor, from New Symtaria. I’m here to take you back to my planet,” he said in a deep commanding voice.
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