The Life After War Collection

by Angela White

  “She’s been changed by the war,” Marc explained. “We can help her.”

  “I will not have a crazy woman…”

  Kendle’s quick lunge was beyond Marc’s control. Her hands went to Red Stone’s chest, shoving him off his horse.

  She swung up into his place with a sneer, controlling his big horse with little effort. “I killed every one of them. I am no woman. I am a Rage Walker.”

  Marc grinned at the Apache’s surprise. “She’s a little like me, only less…friendly.”

  Since Marc wasn’t considered that at all, it led the group to believe she was lethal.

  Marc immediately began encouraging that thought. He recognized Kendle as a haunted victim, but he also knew that fire. She would fight with them and be good at it, the same as Angela would have been if she were here.

  He’ll like the island woman…

  The demon began spitting out plans to turn Kendle into Angela for that very purpose. If Adrian had his own special warrior, he wouldn’t need Marc’s.

  Drawing on Angela’s training, Marc gave Kendle a hard look. “Give him his horse. You’ll ride with me until I find you one.”

  Kendle slid to the ground and strode over to Marc without argument, fearless despite her female weaknesses.

  He grabbed her arm. “If you disrespect my men, they will not protect you in battle!”

  Kendle pulled out of his grip, heart slow and steady. “I don’t need their protection. And don’t touch me in anger. Ever.”

  Marc raised his hands in mock defense, but didn’t scold further. Her courage would help her bond with these men.

  Marc swung into the saddle, but Kendle made the jump behind him without waiting for his arm. Her hands went to his shoulders.

  Marc kneed the horse without waiting for her to get set.

  Kendle hung on tightly, eventually moving to hug his lean waist, and Marc refused to let the feeling of her curves offer a distraction. She would be treated like any other rookie on his team and then he would take her to Safe Haven and gift her, very carefully, to Adrian.

  3

  “What happened back there?”

  Kendle didn’t give him the details. She wasn’t capable of it. “They went insane and I killed them. Luke knew it was coming. He...” Her voice choked. “He thanked me!”

  Marc felt her shudder and refused to let himself have sympathy yet. “Why not yourself?’

  Kendle was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, it was chilling. “I’m supposed to die somewhere else. My path isn’t complete.”

  Marc knew the feeling, though not the sense that death was on his shoulders. But then, he wasn’t sick. “Is it catching?”

  “Not from me. Luke was the carrier. We brought it with us from the island, after the pirates came.”

  “We’ve seen it here. You didn’t bring it,” Marc refuted, not comforted by the news that the south was also fighting wars. Adrian planned to take Safe Haven in that direction.

  Kendle didn’t let relief heal her heart. “Just helped it travel.”

  Marc didn’t argue the point. He had a different one to confirm. “You’ll expect me to kill you when you go that far.”

  “Yes.”

  Marc felt another part of his heart break off and die. “I will. I won’t hesitate.”

  “We understand each other.”

  “Yes.”

  Marc waited for more, but there was only her hot body against his and her light breathing near his ear.

  Running on instinct, Marc shoved into her mind. You know what I am?

  Kendle shuddered against him. Like me.

  Yes.

  They didn’t need to speak about it. Being this way was isolating. Neither of them could have explained how it felt to be so different.

  “Why didn’t you go to Safe Haven?” he asked over the light thudding of hooves.

  Kendle shrugged, becoming sore already from the bounce of the saddle under her thighs. “I dream about the west and a fight. It’s one we were all on our way to join.”

  Marc heard the anger, but also the desolation underneath in her next statement.

  “It’s the only place we would have been welcome.”

  “Would have been?” he questioned, steeling himself to her pain. This wasn’t his Angie.

  “I don’t think I’ll make it now,” she confessed lowly. “This rage grows faster than I can keep up with.”

  Marc recognized her need and answered, “You’ll be on our front lines. No one will hold you back. Use that information.”

  Kendle doubted it would be enough. He had no idea how much she longed to draw her knife across his throat and feel that sweet blood cover them both.

  Marc felt the cool chill of danger on the nape of his neck and slowly brought them to a stop. The demon was whispering terrible things.

  “The government has an antidote.”

  Kendle froze, processing that sentence. She could be complete again!

  Marc felt her relax and knew he’d chosen the right lie to give. He doubted there had ever been a disease like this one before the war, let alone a cure for it. Kendle wouldn’t make it to Adrian. She would die on the front lines that she was longing for and he would be the one to take her there. Oh, how he hated fate at that moment!

  It didn’t stop him from doing his duty though, and Marc turned them toward Denver with a bleeding soul and a racing mind. So many new plans had sprung up that he was now the one who felt like he couldn’t wait for a moment alone to examine them.

  Knowing he was distracted, Marc fell back to the middle of their party to let the others scan for trouble. He needed to consider the new scheme his demon had suggested. It was brutal, treacherous, and absolutely friggin perfect.

  Marc’s concentration was noticed by Paul and Jax, and neither rookie interrupted him. They’d witnessed that expression before. It was dangerous.

  Kendle listened to Marc’s mind, aware that he’d lied. Once said, her brain and soul had latched onto it anyway. What did he know? Maybe there really was a cure and when they went into battle, it would be a simple matter of torture to discover the truth.

  Kendle rested against Marc and allowed herself to doze. Hope was a powerful calmative.

  4

  Paul and Jax had no problems with Kendle being along. They’d gotten used to having females on duty with them, and on supply runs. It was the instant bond between her and Marc that concerned them. It was clear from their first night of camping that she wanted to be close to him.

  Marc had refused her company and spent an hour drilling her on fighting instead. While they rode, she noticed the training he was giving them, doing well with her knife. It was that common link, those little moments that said she was Brady’s kind, that kept the rookies from offering friendship, which left Kendle with only Marc to talk to. The Indians ignored her for the most part, glad when he kept her busy. It wasn’t easy having her along, especially when she refused to look away while they changed clothes or bathed, but they adjusted over the four days it took them to get to Denver. Kendle was different, disturbed, was the common thought among the group.

  Marc agreed with that assessment, but he also saw glimpses of the woman she’d been. So would people in the camp who’d even spent time surfing channels in the old world, if they got to meet her. The survival queen would be an asset either way. Marc didn’t doubt his choice, but it did make him realize how unfair he’d been to Angela when they first come to Safe Haven.

  That is why you lost her, the demon confirmed. If you had supported her, she would be yours still.

  Marc didn’t respond, but the words kept him from sleep.

  Four days after picking her up, Marc took a spot close to the fire, shaking his head at Kendle when she would have left their warm bedroll and joined him. He couldn’t be close to her with these thoughts in his mind. She might be able to read him and that wouldn’t do.

  “You are restless,” Natoli commented, holding out a tin cup. “Is there trouble?”

>   Marc took a healthy swig of the homemade liquor.

  “In my mind,” he gasped out. “Too many voices.”

  The Choctaw warrior sat down across from him and began loading a long pipe that he hadn’t used before now. When Natoli began to smoke, the thick tobacco permeated the air and layered the fire in fog.

  Marc stared at the swirling white and gold. The flames were mesmerizing as they tried to survive the lack of oxygen.

  Natoli exhaled again and the flames disappeared. A third lungful covered Marc in the fog and he huddled there, alone and isolated.

  “You walk a hard path.”

  Natoli’s voice was no longer that of a single warrior, but of all Indian warriors. In his tones was also the strength of generations yet to come.

  “Do not stop on the path,” Natoli warned, aware that he’d gone into a trance in front of everyone, something he’d never done before. “Aid comes from many places.”

  The fog began to dissipate on the cold breeze.

  Marc raised his eyes to Natoli. “The woman must be trained and fed, or I will have to kill her, as she did to the people she traveled with before. They have a sickness that makes them feel so much hatred that only blood is satisfying.”

  “She is a blood-taker?” Natoli asked in horror.

  “Not to eat or drink. Seeing it is the cure.”

  “We have found others like that. They do eat and drink of their victims. We have slaughtered them all.”

  Marc didn’t lie. “I cannot promise it won’t get that bad. Only that when it does, I’ve given her my word that I’ll handle it.”

  Natoli studied Marc, then Kendle’s form that was breathing too evenly to be sleeping. “You would kill your woman?”

  Marc didn’t correct that impression, though his heart protested. If he said he had no interest in Kendle, she would belong to one of these men a minute later. “Yes. Nothing will be allowed to interfere.”

  “Sometimes the Spirit puts temptations in our path to test our determination and honor,” Natoli stated.

  “And sometimes they gift you with weapons,” Marc added, leaning forward. “She has incredible power, my friend. And she wants to spill blood…”

  Natoli began grinning as Marc’s plan became clearer. “You will set her loose on the soldiers.”

  “Yes. She hates them more than we do. She thinks they let the rage disease loose during the war, that they’ve caused all this to keep secrets covered up that would have lost them power. She’s a weapon that only needs the proper aiming and care.”

  Those words got every man listening on board, as Marc had known it would. He’d been stewing over the decision to use Kendle on the front lines since seeing her eyes. He’d known right then that she was strong, but since, she’d only proven it by not complaining and being able to keep up. When they camped, she did her own hunting and cleaning, and made a fire to cook it on. The Indians had begun to view her how he needed them to and Marc had chosen to go through with the demon’s brutal plan. The enemy would never suspect Safe Haven people of bringing female assassins along, and it would give them a few small advantages during battle that Marc would use. The government had no idea how dangerous that sex was now, but Marc thought maybe they would discover it in time. Underestimating foes was a mistake the government had been making for centuries.

  Aware that no one was fooled by her act, Kendle slowly sat up and let her hands go to work on her kit. Marc had given it to her yesterday, telling her to braid all the straps and then he’d fill it for her. While her fingers went over the rawhide strings, Kendle searched the darkness mentally. Killing the fox hadn’t been nearly enough. Animals didn’t bleed the way people did, didn’t smell the same.

  Kendle wasn’t sure why she’d been able to outlast the others in their group once they started flipping into madness, but she still had a part of her sanity that had sent her to an auto store for a filter to use as a silencer. She’d gotten them alone, one by one, and given them peace. She hadn’t felt anything while pulling the triggers. No joy, no guilt, no soul breaking in two. Just rage at the people who’d sentenced them all to this.

  Her nails dug into the skin of her palms and Kendle flung the kit to the dirt, standing up. She needed a real release if she was going to follow Marc’s rules.

  When she vanished into the shadows around their camp, Marc followed her. From the cracks of the hay room, he’d witnessed what women like her needed when the stress was too much. He wasn’t sure if he could do it, but he was about to find out.

  “If you get too close, I’ll attack,” Kendle warned coldly. “I can’t help it right now.”

  Marc grabbed her arm and swung her around, not surprised by the crimson orbs and snarling lips. “Hit me.”

  Kendle paused, struggling to regain control of herself.

  Marc followed through.

  Slap!

  Kendle glanced up from the ground for a bare instant. Then she lunged.

  It was a vicious fight where Marc did his best to keep from being bitten, but not hurt her. Those wild punches would be good if they landed where she aimed, and the kicks were strong despite missing their mark.

  He gave her a hard shove back to the ground, making sure it hurt a little so that she would listen. “Stop now.”

  Kendle wiped the blood from her lip with a growl. “More! Please!”

  “Not like this,” Marc denied. “Let me train you. Let us help you.”

  Kendle trembled, close to snapping. “Not sure I can, Marc.”

  Marc leaned down into her personal space, ready to stop her lunge if it was needed. “There are a thousand soldiers where we’re going. Too many for you to ever kill the way you are now. We can make sure you get to see all the blood you want.”

  Kendle began filling with a hunger that Marc knew to lean away from. He stood up, extending his hand. “Ten days. That’s all.”

  Kendle closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. “You’ll have to give me releases.”

  She didn’t say, since you won’t sleep with me, but Marc heard it.

  “I’m sorry it can’t be the kind you want, but I will provide something for you to take your anger out on each time we camp. Will that work?”

  Kendle shuddered. “Yes.”

  Marc watched her draw in the rage until there was only a hint of red around her pretty violet. “Very good. Let’s do another workout and then you’ll be able to sleep.”

  Kendle let him lead her into the firelight and this time when he began to train her, there was no shortage of help. Witnessing how rough Marc had been–her lip was split and shoulder sported an ugly purple bruise–gave proof to his words about nothing interfering. They didn’t understand that she’d just gotten her first Eagle evaluation. Marc knew a convert when he saw one now, thanks to Adrian.

  I really do hate that man, he thought bitterly. I liked how life looked through my blinders.

  5

  “May we enter your camp?”

  The call came as Marc flipped Kendle over his shoulder. It had been five days since their first session.

  She hit the ground with a thud but quickly got to her feet, glaring at the interruption.

  Marc made sure she was under control before he turned to meet the newest arrivals. She appeared to be doing better, but he suspected it was only great act. Inside Kendle, madness was boiling steadily and Marc hadn’t found a way to save her. He wasn’t sure there was one. He was only grateful that she was controlling herself.

  “Welcome,” Natoli called to the riders coming in. “Welcome, our Delaware and Iroquois brothers, to the camp of the Ghost.”

  With bruises and scrapes, no shirt and a gun on each hip, Kendle thought Marc appeared the part as he went to shake with each of the men. These were more of theirs, though Kendle wasn’t sure exactly what that meant yet. All she cared for was justice. Marc had given her a target and in the morning, they would reach it. He hadn’t told his men yet, but Kendle was sure Marc planned to do some damage right away. The majority of hi
s plan would take place along 40, but after this short time with him, Kendle doubted Marc would just spot them in Denver and then quietly flee. In fact, if he did, she was leaving and going in on her own. She would rather die down there tomorrow alone, than to wait another week or even two weeks for what the Indians were calling the greatest battle of their time. She wanted to fight now.

  Slip off while he’s distracted, her inner voice suggested. Go kill them.

  Kendle closed her lids, trying to fight the suicide order. The time with Marc had given her a tiny ray of hope. He knew how to handle her, was teaching her to control it. There might be a tiny chance of surviving the fight and even recovering if she could get it together.

  The disease that was currently ravaging her mind had given her more strength. Kendle wasn’t aware of how hard she was gripping her knife until it began to bend. She quickly shoved it against the ground to straighten it, hoping no one had noticed. They already knew–they’d felt her hits during the training sessions–but they didn’t know it was more than that. She was avoiding water, even insisting that Marc delay their one bridge crossing. She had asked for a pill. Impatient and not needing the lack of respect from the men if he detoured, Marc had gently clipped her on the jaw and carried her in his arms. Kendle was grateful.

  Marc’s confident voice went over the camp in even waves as he greeted their newest fighters. Kendle shoved herself down onto the ground to wait until he was ready to resume the lesson. While she sat there, she dug in the dirt with her fingers and tried to go over the things he’d taught her, but it was hard to concentrate with that voice whispering how sweet the blood would be.

  The others who’d been with them for the trip through tribal lands understood that Kendle was like Marc, different from the Indians and other people they’d known since the war. Marc’s group had gotten used to his slight withdraw upon meeting new men. He wanted to give them time to adjust before showing his true nature. It was a good idea, but destined to fail, as fate doesn’t like having her every move planned. Sometimes, she liked to throw in a wildcard.

  Marc felt the wind drop, the chill of battle falling into place. He sent out his grid, searching for their guards. Five still dots instead of men moving closer told Marc their new people were a distraction to allow their sentries to be taken out.