Storm Front: NA Fantasy/Time Travel (Tesla Time Travelers Book 3)

by Jen Greyson

  I can’t go anywhere dressed like I am, so I hurry into the neighborhood, fingers crossed for a late-night laundry raid. I find what I need at the third house. Dresses and tunics hang on a short line, forgotten in the day’s chores. I snag one from the end and hide in the shadows, hurriedly changing and tucking my own clothes beneath a thick line of shrubbery. I’ll have to send someone back for those once we make it to the training field, otherwise they’d cause serious alarm when they’re found. I like I’m finally starting to think through my actions… sucky it’s under these circumstances.

  Town is quiet tonight and I circle through the rows of houses back toward the main street on my way to the training ground. I keep my senses alert. Landing here means he’s close, but I don’t want to run into him walking down the street. I need a minute to talk to him, to explain why I’m here and how he can help me.

  I cross the narrow street at the tavern and his laughter freezes me, making me hurry back to press against the wall near the door. I tip my head and listen. By the sounds of it, there are a dozen men in there with him and a couple women. I tug at the bodice of the dress, uncomfortably out of place though I barely took off the last one.

  Dusk extinguishes the sunset and shadows pool at my feet. If I stall much longer, I’ll be hunting him in full night. Going into the tavern is my best bet… I hope. We’ve never met when there were other people around and gave me the chance to sway him. I inhale and take a big step. This has to work.

  My eyes adjust quickly to the torches and lights of the tavern. Constantine sits at a table on the far wall, legs spread and reclined in a large chair. Six men sit with him, but he dwarfs them, both in size and stature. He’s the thick, raw version of himself from day at the docks—young, high on life, and riding the wave of his new promotion as commander. Tonight, he’s dressed casually in tunic and tall leather boots, legs and arms bare for me to covet like always. My heart leaps at the sight of him and I want nothing more than to crawl up in his lap and listen to him tell stories. I never had enough time with this version of him and I love it every bit as the one I left.

  One of the men at his table notices me and points. “There’s a bawdy wench. Call her over.”

  That yanks me out of my daydreaming and I focus. These guys are completely wasted and the stakes escalated. Constantine’s honor might prevent them from raping me, but I’m an idiot for walking into a tavern. Also, it’s highly unlikely I swiped these clothes from a high-born woman’s house, so I’m probably wearing the exact wrong thing. That’s what I get for trying to plan instead of rushing in like a barbarian and making my plea.

  Constantine finally looks at me and a slow, lusty smile spreads across his face. He takes his time appraising my features, and I stand still for it, wary of making a break for it and finding him later, though that’s exactly what I want to do. Elsewhere, the laughter and heckling subsides, the other girls are quiet in their petting of the men. Every gaze is on me, but I keep mine locked on Constantine. Heat warms my face at both my embarrassment and my residual lust from making love to him less than an hour ago. My fingers curl into tight fists and I’m pissed at myself for not thinking this through better.

  “A prostitute to celebrate my engagement!” Constantine lifts a tankard and takes a healthy drink, breaking the tension. I bend over laughing, hands on my knees. Well, it could have gone worse. I’d forgotten about his upcoming nuptials though, and stings. On the bright side, I already know their marriage doesn’t last long—she dies in childbirth with Aurelia. Probably not nice of me to wish her ill, but he’s my man, including this version who’s already engaged and I don’t really care if makes me an adulteress. Timeline or no, he’s mine.

  “Come here, woman.” He pats his thigh.

  Oh, hell no. Not like that. If this was the older him, and the one who knows me, I’d consider it. But this guy? Not a chance. I put my fists on my hips and glare at him. “We need to talk.”

  He turns to the men on his left. “Talk about what’s beneath my tunic.” They all laugh heartily and several of them allow their gazes to wander across my body and Constantine doesn’t bother to hide his desire.

  “Now.”

  “Feisty one, she is.” He stands. “This should prove a worthy time.” He adjusts his belt and drains his cup, then slams it on the table. “Lead on, woman.”

  I turn and march out of the building, more conflicted than I’ve been. I hurry across the street, desperate to stay out of his arms long enough to tell him what I came for.

  “Why the hurry?”

  Stopping at the intersection of two streets, I turn and hold up both palms. “Will you listen to me first? Please?”

  His hands stop in their reach for my waist and he frowns. “I didn’t follow you out here for talking.”

  “Yes, I know. But it’s important.”

  He shifts his weight and adjusts himself beneath the tunic. Damn if doesn’t make me want him, but I have to keep all these versions of him separate. He’s engaged and I can’t go wanting him now. Besides, we have work to do.

  “And after we talk?”

  “Sure, yeah. Fine.” If he believes what I’m about to tell him, then he won’t want to have sex with me. Our relationship will shift and alter in a second.

  He walks to a low wall covered in vines and perches on the top amid the leaves and stems. “Sit then, and tell me your story.”

  I move closer but don’t sit. This will take all the showmanship I can muster, and I’m such a crap storyteller, I’m better off standing so I can pace and think. Besides, he’s not exactly the kind of guy to wait for me to get to the point—shock and awe is my best bet. “Marcus sent me.”

  He blinks and his gaze flickers across my body again, but he doesn’t comment. That’s not the reaction I wanted—or the one he promised me. Maybe if I’d stop being so damn timid, he’d buy Marcus had anything to do with me. I inhale and touch the lightning simmering in my belly, waking it and infusing me with the courage I’ve been lacking since arriving.

  “Not as a prostitute for your pleasure. I’m here to train with you.” Warfare is the only thing he’d prize highly enough gives me a shot. “I meant to find you training. Marcus said you committed hours to becoming a better warrior.” I cross my arms and lift my chin, my confidence finally returning. “Perhaps he was wrong about you.”

  Constantine grins and settles both hands onto the edge of the wall, tipping his broad body forward. “A true warrior knows the importance of rest and refueling. I will not apologize to you for taking a meal in a tavern.”

  “And sex? That sharpens your sword?” I make a point of looking at his cock, barely concealed beneath the tunic.

  He doesn’t shift and I’ve forgotten how cocky and sure this version is—probably to his detriment on the field, which will serve me well when we fight. His voice lowers seductively. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

  I pull my shoulders back and fight my desire for him, then lie. “I’d rather see your other sword in action.”

  He laughs. “You are not what I expected.”

  Relief eases the tension in my shoulders and I grin. He’s said same thing to me so many times before and I love it’s his curiosity about me intrigues him enough to put aside his superstitions and impressions.

  “Come, then.” He hops off the low wall, then pauses and looks over his shoulder. “Give me your name.”

  “Evy.”

  He nods. “A fine goddess name.”

  I smile. Last time he said it was a fine warrior name. I’m not sure which one I prefer.

  We arrive at the training ground with its young trees and not-yet-beat-to-hell grass as the last light of the day fades to black. I can’t believe I was here this morning, but decades from now. That still messes me up, but I shove it away, ready to win him over. He unsheathes his sword and takes a fighting stance six feet in front of me. “Shall we fight then?”

  I laugh nervously and step away, lightning readied, but hidden, at my fingertips. “God, no
!” Once, once could we not fight as our introduction? I point toward the burlap and leather training dummy on the edge of the field. “Let’s see your technique first.”

  He swings the heavy sword over his head then attacks with a war cry, hacking at the dummy with ease. It’s fascinating to watch him train. I’ve never had the luxury before. He’s either been helping me hone my skill by attacking me or we’ve been going to battle, fighting alongside each other. And was the refined version, not this meaty, immature version who thinks power trumps finesse.

  Proving my point, he lops the dummy’s head off and drops his arms to his sides, panting from the exertion. This morning he would have done same thing so differently and not be out of breath in the slightest. I’m impressed I’ve noticed so much about not only how he trains, but the importance of what he’s taught me in our latest sessions. “Again.” He attacks beams, three targets, and another dummy before he comes back around and pauses in front of me. I pretend to be bored but I’m shocked and a little afraid of his raw power. He’s a killing machine, but with the wild spray of a shotgun versus the precision of a sniper rifle.

  I put him on task again, directing him toward the wooden beams under the guise of watching his footwork. In truth, I'm not thrilled about facing him one-on-one tonight, only in part because I don’t have the mental capacity with everything that’s happened today. This brutality of his is straight terrifying and I’m not sure he has the skill to pull his punches before he takes off one of my arms. If we fight tonight, I’ll have to be on the defense and overly protective of my own body.

  This training field is his playground and it takes nothing for him to slice and dice beam after beam with grace and a cocky confidence. There’s no arguing with his power; he can cut a man in half with a single swipe, but I miss the precision he’s not yet acquired. A loud roar of triumph signals his finish, then he turns with a grin of satisfaction. “I am a fine swordsman.”

  And so humble… I choke back my laugh of shock. I definitely can’t compliment him or he’ll have a swelled head for weeks. Face passive, I meet him halfway. “You have skill, of Marcus was not mistaken.” I circle him, mimicking a night not long ago when he addressed me the same way. I poke his shoulder. “You drop your sword arm too much.” I continue to the front and touch his wrist. “This wobbles more than it should.” I lay three fingers on his elbow. “Keep this straight.”

  His grin falters. “I kill fine and have much success on the battlefield.”

  “Yes, you have. But there are fights to come—fights will require your very best. That is why Marcus sent me, to give you the training only a goddess can.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “A goddess?”

  “Who else would he send?” Please let this work… We’re so close.

  Constantine considers my statement and accepts it. “Alright goddess, I’m yours to train.”

  That’s not as true as I want it to be. But for this night, he is mine.

  He removes one of his small knives from a holster against his calf and offers the short blade to me. It’s the one with the black leather hilt was the first knife he made me learn. I step back, palms up. There’s no way I can defend against him with tiny thing, not unless he’s coming at me bare-handed. “I don’t use mortal weapons.” The laughter catches in my throat, but I manage to keep it together with lie. It’s mostly true and I prefer my own to his anyway.

  “If not, then how will you train me?”

  “It won’t be a problem.” I know from experience. “Come with me.” I walk to the middle of the field and turn to face him, arms at my sides, palms open.

  He stops the same distance away again and settles into his stance, sword tip low, anticipating.

  I unfurl one bolt and it extends to the ground, popping and spitting.

  His eyes widen and he rises a few inches, but doesn’t step back. He studies it, the way it curls to the left at the ground, noting the wide fork halfway down. The man misses nothing and I wasn’t sure how he’d handle it this time, before Penya’s come to him, before he knew anything about me, but he sees only a weapon. His jaw is set when he looks at me, then he grins. “Only Marcus would send me something like you.”

  I let the other rope of lightning loose and smile wickedly, pleased at his unique ability to adapt, to take me at my word and not cower in the face of things would send lesser men running. If nothing else, he is my warrior other half and suits me fine. “Then, he thinks highly of you. No other man can handle me.” It’s truth wrapped in a layer of truth and I’m emboldened by our connection. He lifts the tip of his sword a few inches and flexes the thick muscles of his arms, ready.

  I attack, relishing the opportunity. He parries—no hesitation or surprise—and drives his blade against my bolt. Sparks fly into the night and his sword jerks in his hands. I pull back and whip my other bolt toward his feet, but he dodges the attempt and surges forward, no longer seeing me as a woman, but as a challenger. Pride surges in my chest and I use it to supercharge my bolts. They flare bright and I push him back several steps before he shifts and comes at me from the side.

  I block his attack, having the luxury of knowing my opponent so very well. It makes me laugh this has become the way we train, no matter who gets to go first.

  I challenge him, anticipating the moves he’s used against me before—his favorites and fallbacks. I fight him like he’s the man I left, the one with skills can’t possibly get any better, the one who pushes me to be my very best. I maintain the upper hand for the first few minutes, then he drops to his knees, ducking beneath a wide arc of my lightning. Without his parry to counter-balance me, I tip forward and he uses my momentum against me, leg-sweeping me and charging upward, tossing me onto my back. Before I can recover and spin away, he's on top of me, his sword at my throat, the blade grazing my skin.

  His breath comes in heaving pants, stuttering across my face. He smells of stale beer and jerked meat but I don’t dare tip my face away, wary at the blade poised above my jugular. I stare at him, trusting, confident he can rein himself in.

  He jerks as if realizing he’s bested me. Then he lifts the sword and rocks back on his heels. He runs his fingers through his damp hair but doesn’t get off, his thighs pressed into my ribcage, knees pinning my arms to the ground. I could easily wrap bands of lightning around his waist and get free, but there’s no need.

  He’s accepted me as a worthy opponent and I know all too well allows me unfettered access to not only him as a warrior, but as a man.

  “What do you require of me?” he asks after letting me up and helping me to my feet.

  “A place to sleep and time to train with you.” I hold off bringing up Penya’s pending arrival until I figure out if he knows she’s coming. We’ve never talked about this part of Penya though I was curious about how they came to be partners and if he gave her as much grief as he’s given me before this trip. That would have been a good thing to ask before I left him.

  He rests the tip of his sword in the grass and sets his hands on the hilt, one on top of the other. “I do have a secure location where you can be housed. How long will you stay?”

  “Not long. You’re a fast learner.” We will have the exact right amount of time I need before Penya arrives. Ilif is right though this isn’t an alteration, I’ve come to Constantine exactly when I’ve needed him, and this time will prove no different.

  “Are you satisfied with this evening’s results?” he asks.

  I step closer. “Are you?”

  He shakes his head, tossing his sweaty curls in the cooling air. “No. I fought well, but you exposed many of my weaknesses—ones I was unaware of, to be truthful.”

  I feel almost guilty about my insider knowledge of his strategy. “Do you want to train more tonight?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I would prefer to think on my reactions to you first.” He sheaths his sword angrily like he’s frustrated with himself. I almost feel bad, but damn it was nice to have the upper hand for most of the fight.


  Finished for the evening, he leads me toward the main building and I’m surprised when we walk down the hallway and straight to Anna’s room. He pushes through the door without knocking and I pull up short in middle of the plain room, missing his sister’s decorative touches and bins of fabric and color. I’m glad I didn’t ask about her and I wonder when Anna comes… or if she won’t now I’ve warned her of the sickness struck down their entire family. I look at Constantine, overcome with the emotion of what was like for him, losing everyone but Anna. He’s so untouched by tragedy right now, soon to be wed, his entire life ahead of him. This is an agonizing peek at his life before I came to know and love him. Thinking about his engagement makes me sad and I have trouble checking it before the emotion curdles in my stomach.

  “Is this not suitable?” he asks, concerned about my frown.

  I brighten and force a smile. “No. It’s great. It’s fine…” I fidget and pull my braid over my shoulder, poking my fingers through the plait to occupy my hands. “I was thinking about someone else.”

  “Oh?” His brow creases and he runs a hand across the simple table held piles of leather and fabric when I was here last. Finally, he lifts his eyes. “A lover?”

  I smile coyly. I’m always thinking of him, whether by association of his sister, or because he’s standing less than four feet away. “Yes.” My voice is breathless.

  He steps closer, filling the space between us with his size and power. His fingers lift and he twines a loose lock of my hair around his fingers. “You are exceptional during training, I wonder what you’re like in bed.” His voice is low and thick, curling around me like velvet.

  My heartbeat speeds up and my tongue touches the corner of my lips; my fingers twitch, wanting to caress his skin. “Too bad you’re engaged.”

  He steps closer. Our bodies nearly touch. I’m at war with who he is to me, and yet, not this version, not this man before me and within reach. “But not yet wed.”

  I can’t help the way my body bows forward, drawn to him like he’s lashed a rope around my waist and pulled me closer, inch by inch. It doesn’t help we were naked together… or I’m wondering what this version would be like. Would he be more aggressive, harder, faster? My breath quickens.