White Knight

by Nicole Flockton

  The lights overhead started to flicker. “I’m finding this rather difficult to believe,” Derek scoffed.

  Sasha reached over and slipped her hand into his, and the lights stopped fluttering. Satisfied, she turned back to the men she’d once considered honorable knights. “I was the only woman in the boardroom when the stone glowed. How would this witch even know about me?”

  “A good question,” Tristain said. “But she’s powerful and determined to stop the prophecy, which means killing any woman who might be one of the fated soul mates in the stories.”

  Derek’s hand tightened around hers. “This is crazy.”

  Lance levered off his desk, stalking forward, his eyes narrowed. “As crazy as electric balls of energy being used as weapons?”

  Derek tensed, and she squeezed the hand she still held. “This is . . . a lot to take in,” she murmured quietly.

  If what Lance had said about the prophecy were true, there’s no way Morgan would want Camelot to rise again. That was why she wanted the stone. She would have the ultimate power over the Knights. Would she destroy it to destroy their immortality? No, she’d cursed them to walk alone for centuries on end.

  The magic. She wanted the stone back to destroy it to get the power Father took from her. That’s what he’d been doing the day she killed him. It had to be. Had he imbued the stone with Morgan’s powers? What about Merlin’s own power? Was part of her father trapped in that rock?

  All seven men’s focuses moved to her, unaware of her inner turmoil. Tristain stepped forward, going down on one knee before her. “Know that we are here to serve you. To protect you.”

  “I’ll protect her,” Derek snarled.

  Tristain ignored him. “If you are one of the fated souls, you are precious and must be saved. No matter what.”

  One by one, each of the men went down on one knee before her. Even Lance. Were they still knights, they would’ve sworn their swords to her.

  Whoa. No way was she one of Arthur’s knights. Her heart belonged to Arthur—or did it? Currently, the man sitting beside her caused her heart to race. She couldn’t deal with this. “Please stand up. I can’t be one of these women you believe is fated to . . . whatever.” She flapped a hand.

  Slowly, they rose.

  She had to get out of here.

  She backed up a couple of steps, to be brought up short by Derek’s hand still clasped in hers.

  “Look . . . I’ve had a rough night. I’d just like to go home. Get some sleep. I’ll . . . think about what you’ve said. Let’s talk about it more tomorrow, when I can think straight.”

  “Will you at least let us try to keep you safe until we can talk again?” Waine asked. “There is a private penthouse on the top floor of this building. It is as secure as anything we can provide. You’re tired. Why not skip the journey to your home? Use the penthouse tonight.”

  Arguing would only extend the time she’d have to stand here. “Fine.”

  Relief eased the matching worry lines furrowing every single one of their brows. She wouldn’t be surprised if they intended to spend the night in their offices close by. What would they think if they found out who she really was? No way could she be one of the prophesied women. Otherwise, they would’ve found her sooner. During the time of Camelot, Arthur would’ve known, or surely her father.

  “I’m staying with you,” Derek insisted.

  She turned wide eyes his way. Derek’s expression was fierce—jaw tight, lips compressed, eyes hard—then he winked and flashed her a small grin. “On the couch. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

  Sasha’s heart thundered, and the instant, sweet ache between her legs told her she should run like hell. How could she want this man with such intensity in the middle of all this?

  “All right.”

  None of the dwarves appeared pleased with this plan, but they didn’t object either. “I’ll take you up,” Waine said.

  On the way out, Lance called Derek back. She and Waine waited in the hallway at the elevator, but she still caught the gist of the conversation.

  “If she is one of the women in the prophecy, she’s not meant for you.”

  “I believe that’s up to Sasha.”

  Lance gave a cold smile. “It’s up to fate.”

  “Fuck fate. And fuck you.”

  Chapter 11

  “Wait here,” Derek commanded Sasha. “You, too, Waine.” He held up his hand. “No argument. I’m not leaving her out here alone while I check out the apartment to make sure it’s safe.”

  Waine bristled, and his fists clenched. “I can assure you this penthouse is safe.”

  Derek shrugged. “Don’t care. A month ago, I may have believed you. Now with magically disappearing stones, Sasha is not entering until I know for sure there’s no one lurking in any corners.”

  The two men stared each other down. After a long moment, Waine nodded.

  “Key, please?” Derek held out a hand and waited as Waine fished it out of his pocket. Derek closed his fingers over it, but Waine appeared reluctant to relinquish it.

  “Is there a problem? Because I haven’t changed my mind in the last five seconds. If you’re not prepared to stay out here while I check out this penthouse properly, I’ll take Sasha back to my house. At least there I know she’ll be safe and protected.”

  Derek stood his ground, tempted to send a charge of electricity through the metal. Finally, Waine let go.

  “You know, you remind me of someone,” Waine said as Derek inserted it in the lock. “A man I knew a long time ago. He was as stubborn and hardheaded as you.”

  The mechanism clicked. Glancing over his shoulder, Derek said, “I would’ve liked to meet him.”

  He entered the apartment and closed the door. It would be sensible to turn the lights on and momentarily blind anyone in the flat. However, such an action would also rob Derek of his ability to see. He kept his back to the door and let his eyes adjust to the dimness, the only source of light coming from the crescent moon shining through the window. He concentrated on controlling his breathing, centering himself.

  With his eyes adjusted, he took in the space around him. The penthouse opened up into a wide room furnished with a large sectional couch and, judging by the dark shadow, a long coffee table and end tables as well.

  He moved quickly and quietly through the flat, opening doors and surveying each room, taking the time to check any nooks or crevices where a person could hide. The penthouse—two bedrooms, a kitchen, dining room, and two bathrooms—wasn’t huge, so it didn’t take him more than five minutes to complete his surveillance. For tonight, he and Sasha would be comfortable.

  “All clear,” he declared as he opened the door.

  Waine smirked. “Told you it was safe.”

  “Boys, I’m too tired to mediate a pissing contest between the two of you.”

  Immediately, Derek was at Sasha’s side, sliding an arm around her waist. Her body softened against him. His body responded by hardening against the zipper of his trousers.

  Down boy. Not the time.

  The way she allowed him to lead her inside without argument indicated how tired she was. His spitfire would’ve objected, would have stated categorically that she could walk on her own two feet. He settled her on the couch and turned his attention back to Waine, who had followed them in. “I’ve got it. You can leave.”

  Waine ignored him, walked over to Sasha and placed a hand on her knee. Derek bit back a curse. If Waine tried anything, he would tear him limb from limb, regardless of the consequences.

  “If you need anything at all, you call us.” Waine bowed as if Sasha were the Queen of England. “We’re here to protect you.”

  Derek unclenched his fists. That’s what all this bullshit was about? Protecting Sasha? Sure, she’d gotten hurt in their building. But Derek didn’t believe that crap about her being some kind of fated soul mate to one of them. He’d told Lance as much. The question was, did Sasha believe him? Did Sasha harbor any feelings for one of
the seven men for whom they worked?

  Well, he damn sure wasn’t going to ask her with that audience. “I’ve got the protection angle under control. Remember, you hired me for my security expertise. You can leave now, Waine.”

  The other man straightened and approached Derek. Like all of the Chevalier brothers, though they were small in stature, each carried an air of command. It never usually bothered Derek. Tonight, it did. For some irrational reason, he had the strangest gut feeling they should follow his command. Either way, in this situation, they would.

  “You have to trust me when I say I will not let anything happen to Sasha,” Derek said before Waine could speak.

  Beats of silence stretched around the room. To Derek’s surprise, Waine softened, even offered a brief smile. “I believe you, Derek Arthur. But remember this, you are not alone. We are in this together. Good night.” He waved at Sasha before leaving.

  Derek let the words sink over him. What was the hidden message in their depths?

  “Do you plan to spend the whole night looking down the hallway?” Sasha’s voice intruded.

  He swiveled and wandered back to the couch where Sasha still sat. Usually prone to speaking her opinion, she’d been jarringly silent till now. The lamplight created a golden halo around her, highlighting the purple hue under her eyes and the red mark on her cheek. Her blouse had lost a couple buttons, and she kept clutching at it.

  His fingers shook as he traced the outline of the mark.

  Bastards.

  He was going to get them and make them pay for what they did to her. He sat down next to her, pulling her into his arms, his lips crashing down on hers. Derek knew he should be gentle, treat her like the finest china. He needed to reassure himself that Sasha was alive and safe.

  What he didn’t expect was for her to ignite in his arms. With his tongue, he encouraged her lips to open beneath his. His hands brushed down the side of her body, itching to close over her breasts. Until her muscles tensing beneath his touch made him pull his lips away.

  He blew out a long breath.

  “I’m sorry, I’m an arse.” He gently settled her beside him, still enclosed in his arms. He wasn’t planning on letting go of her just yet. “You’ve been mauled by enough men tonight. You don’t need me acting like an animal as well.”

  Sasha chuckled against him. “Now you’re working out you’ve been a Neanderthal for the last hour.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Her fingers traced circles over his chest—so not helping to reduce his erection. If anything, that particular part of his anatomy wanted to be the recipient of her tender touch.

  “You were being a bit of a dickhead with Waine. You saw what Tristain and Haden did in the car park. It’s clear these guys aren’t helpless or out to harm me in any way.”

  “I agree they can hold their own, but they employed me for security advice. I run my own security firm. They don’t need to tell me how to do my job.” He could keep going on about why, in the last month, all seven owners seemed to have been getting on his nerves. Ever since he’d seen that table in their boardroom—the same table from his dreams—he’d gotten the irritating inkling he was missing something big: something important, a connection between the table, the men, and him. No matter how hard he tried to recall that memory, that link, he’d been unsuccessful.

  Come to think of it, the last two times he’d kissed Sasha he hadn’t experienced any visions. Had he imagined those flashes of times past?

  “Now you look like you’re in pain.”

  She was one to talk. Sasha really did look whacked out. No sooner had he finished the thought than she yawned.

  “I think it’s time we got you to bed.”

  Sasha’s eyebrow quirked up. “Is that an invitation? Because if it is, you need to work on your technique.”

  A bed with Sasha naked beneath the covers. Now these were visions he wouldn’t mind experiencing.

  He smoothed her hair back from her face, liking the way her grey eyes darkened at his touch. “Trust me, if I were issuing an invitation, you’d know it. But no matter how tempted I am, it’s not coming tonight.”

  Oh shit, he’d gone there. He’d declared he wanted to sleep with Sasha. Why was that earth-shattering? She had to know he was interested in her. But was the feeling mutual? Sure, she returned his kisses, but that didn’t mean anything.

  She pursed her lips, then moved gracefully to her feet, out of his embrace. “I think I might go take a shower. Can you direct me to the bathroom?”

  He had his answer.

  “Sure. Follow me.”

  The bathroom was large and elegantly decorated with fancy marble that matched the décor of the offices below. A soaker tub stood invitingly in one corner and a double shower in the other, both plenty big enough for two people.

  “Here you go. You shower; I’ll see if I can get us something to eat. And”—in the brighter light, the developing bruise on her cheek stood out—“I’ll get some ice for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded and walked out of the room.

  “Derek, wait,” Sasha chased him down, her hand on the door handle, him standing on the opposite side.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll look forward to your invitation.” Her wink was the last thing he saw before she closed the door on him.

  Derek couldn’t have stopped the satisfied grin spreading across his face if he’d wanted to.

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  • • •

  He jolted awake.

  It took a few seconds to get his bearings. His back ached from sitting in the uncomfortable wing-backed chair he had taken from the dining room set and dragged into the hallway. He had a perfect view of both the room where Sasha slept and the front door. If anyone tried to get in or out, he’d know it.

  He got to his feet and stretched in an effort to ease his sore muscles, his neck giving a satisfying pop, before he headed to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee or anything with caffeine. He took two steps and stopped. The air felt all wrong. Slowing his breathing, he concentrated on the area around him, trying to work out what was off.

  Sasha.

  On instinct, he headed for her bedroom. As quietly as he could, he reached out and turned the door handle. He waited a couple of beats before opening it fully. His gaze fell immediately to the bed. An empty bed.

  “Fuck.”

  He raced around the penthouse, banging open every door. Every damn room was empty. Panic swirled in his gut. If anything happened to Sasha, he couldn’t live with himself, let alone what Lance and his tribe would think. He’d told them he would protect her. Hell, he’d gotten shitty with Waine only a few hours ago.

  How could he have fallen asleep? How long had he been out? And why didn’t he hear anything? Whenever he’d snoozed out on patrol, a fly buzzing by would wake him instantly.

  Had she gone home? Decided she wanted to sleep in her own bed instead of sleep here?

  He grabbed his bag and yanked out his tablet, pulling up the security footage for the building. Any movement and he’d know about it. If she’d left on her own steam or been taken, either way, the cameras would pick her up. Unless the kidnapper was magical, and then he was fucked. God, they had him believing it now.

  There!

  The motion detector outside Lance’s office had been triggered, though the cameras weren’t picking anything up. He checked the time—the device had been activated ten minutes ago. Was Sasha being coerced into getting something out of Lance’s office? Or was she stealing something?

  She was the last person who’d been in the safe when the other stone was stolen.

  He didn’t want to believe she could be any way responsible, but years of training meant he couldn’t ignore the possibility either.

  Only one way to find out—he must head down to Lance’s office and see if he could apprehend the intruder.

  Derek used the stairs to avoid alerting anyone. In a matter of minutes, he was on t
he opposite side of Lance’s half-closed office door.

  Dammit. I don’t have a gun.

  Didn’t matter, he had other skills. Not only could he maim with his martial arts training, he could maim with his ability to control energy, too. He’d done it once earlier. He could do it again. Closing his eyes, he drew within himself and pulled at the energy. A small white ball formed in his hand.

  With the element of surprise on his side, he flung the door open and turned on the lights.

  The gasp of surprise reached his ears in the surrounding white blur.

  Sasha.

  He blinked twice. Lance’s private safe, the one with an extra tricky combination, stood wide open. Sasha stood dressed in head-to-toe black, the Immortality Stone in her hand, a stone that wasn’t glowing. And not a single other soul stood in the room with her. She was alone. The energy ball in his hand fizzled out.

  He’d found his thief.

  Chapter 12

  Sasha swallowed hard around the lump that clogged her throat. “I—” she croaked. She shook her head.

  Hell. What could she say that Derek would believe now?

  Narrowing his eyes, pinning her with a glare so full of fury she shivered, he crossed his arms. The lights he’d just turned on started stuttering.

  “Yes?”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Fury didn’t begin to cover the venom in his voice. Tears of frustration—with fate, with her father, with Morgan, with every damn thing that happened in her life—stung at the back of her eyes.

  She’d stood there in the cold darkness, hands shaking, for a good ten minutes. The tools were in her office. All she had to do was jog down the hall, pick up the hammer, and bash this ugly rock to dust chips. Hopefully, it was that easy. Then she’d have her life back before the clock struck three.

  Maybe she’d celebrate her freedom to grow old by crawling into Derek’s bed. Maybe they’d head to Tahiti and drink mai tais all day and explore each other’s erogenous zones for the next forty years.

  But she didn’t move.

  Wait, Sasha. Wait.