She drew a breath as a shiver raced up her spine, born of the impact of his voice, so deep and masculine, the velvetlike notes stroked her nerve endings. She squeezed her eyes shut, certain he used magic to manipulate her.
“Let. Me. Go.”
“Not a chance,” he said softly. “At least, not yet.”
His hand rested on her stomach and she could feel his fingers spread. Again, she felt that familiar feeling. An image flashed in her mind. Of him naked, holding her. Touching her. Of him laughing at something she said. She wanted to melt against the stranger, to make it real. It felt…happy. She shook her head. No! It wasn’t real.
She tried to shove away the images, tried to reject them. Still, the feelings they created lingered. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
He didn’t respond immediately, instead his body seemed to absorb hers. To get closer. As if he, too, was seeing the images. Or perhaps focused on creating them. She didn’t know. In that moment in time, she didn’t care.
The scent of him, masculine and a bit woodsy, surrounded her with a familiar sense of knowing this man. Time seemed to stand still. A sizzle started low in her body, dancing along her thighs and building into an ache. Even knowing she was under some sort of a spell, the feeling of heat and desire began to consume mind and body. She felt like she was drifting into a fog. A lust-filled fog.
Then, abruptly, the spell was broken. He spoke, and this time his voice came out hard. Almost harsh. And the anger. She felt it again. “The girl in the car is safe. I had her taken to the house.”
He let her go, the warmth of his body disappearing. She hugged herself as she turned, suddenly chilled without reason in the midst of a scorching Texas night. As she brought him into view, she found the stranger walking toward his horse. She stood there, staring after him, not sure what to do.
“You have Eva?” she asked. “You have my sister?”
Karen watched as he mounted the stallion, and then maneuvered the animal sideways to look at her. “Yeah, I have her.” He stared down at her for several seconds and then held out his hand. “You coming or not?”
There was only one answer, and they both knew it. He had her sister. Of course she was damn well coming!
She started walking toward him, feeling like she was following the devil to destruction. She thought of all her monster lore, of how they could control a human mind. He’d done that to her. She was sure of it. Why else would a stranger have aroused her in such a way?
He had to be one of the monsters.
Still, she accepted his hand, willingly offered to follow. Because, Lord help her, as his dark eyes met hers, lust brimming from the rims, telling her he wanted her, she wanted him. She wanted to give herself to him. Her sister was perhaps lying dead, and she was feeling all wet and wanting over a man that might very well be the cause.
And somehow she knew nothing in this world would ever be the same again. Life had taken a drastic turn. Deep inside, she felt this night, these events, somehow played into the destiny she’d always searched for. The one that kept her traveling, kept her looking for what she couldn’t touch.
All those years of feeling she was searching had somehow come back to the here and now. Back to her hometown.
A town tainted with blood. Would it now take hers?
Chapter 5
By the time Jag brought Diablo to a stop in front of the house, having had the soft curves of the woman from his dreams pressed tight against his body, he was ready to come unglued. He couldn’t get away from her soon enough.
Two of his Knights rushed forward. “Take the woman,” he ordered to the one who’d become known only as Rock. A mere fifty years old, though he looked not a day over twenty, he was the baby of the group and still needed a lot of grooming. Often Rock’s hot temper got the best of him, and he acted before he thought.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Rock asked her as he set her on the ground.
This time it might not be his temper that got him in trouble. For some unknown reason, Rock calling this woman sweetheart bit at Jag’s nerves. Dismounting from his horse, Jag stood beside Diablo. He shouldn’t care that another man might find this woman attractive. But he did. Damn it, he did. The things she evoked within him, primal and wild, were dangerous for men like them. No. Beasts like them. He didn’t trust her. He couldn’t allow himself to trust her.
“Where is my sister?” she asked, fixing her attention on Jag, her voice just barely hinting at a tremble.
“The other woman is already with Marisol,” Rinehart, the second Knight, offered, talking to Jag, not Karen.
“Meaning, my sister?” Karen asked, shifting her attention to Rinehart, a demand in her voice. All signs of fear were gone, determination filling her voice.
The look in Rinehart’s deep blue eyes was stone-cold. A cowboy hat told of his good ol’ boy upbringing, but the buzz cut beneath it bore the mark of a military man who didn’t like disorder. He, too, felt these women brought trouble. Jag could see it in his expression.
“If the woman in the car was your sister, ma’am,” Rinehart drawled, “then, yes, she’s safe.”
“Take me to her,” she ordered, her attention going to Jag again, dismissing Rinehart as if she’d figured out he didn’t hold the power. “I want to see my sister.”
Rinehart answered as if she spoke to him, never one to be pushed aside easily. “If you want your sister to live, let our Healer work. She can’t have distractions.”
She ignored him but her fists balled by her sides, a sign of growing frustration. “Take me to my sister,” she demanded through clenched teeth.
Silence followed as Jag locked gazes with her. The air crackled with expectation from his men. No one ordered Jag around. No one. He took control, and he saved lives doing it. He’d told her no. Everyone knew that was final. Everyone but this woman whose name he still didn’t know.
Oddly enough, instead of anger at her demand in front of his men, he found himself admiring her courage. He could sense her fear. All the bravado in the world wouldn’t hide it from him or his men. The Knights were animals in disguise. They could taste fear as easily as they could their own breath. And she reeked of it…Yet, still, she stood up to him.
As she stood there, so very brave, so determined to see her sister, Jag wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her into the house. To bury himself deep inside her warm, wet heat and make love to her until she screamed his name.
The thought, unbidden, thickened his cock and sent a rush of heat through his limbs. It reminded Jag of the temptation she represented, and the evil she’d brought out in him during his dreams.
She couldn’t see her sister now. Not yet. Not until they finished what must be done. Besides, he still had no idea if she was friend or enemy. For now, she was the enemy. If she was somehow aligned with the Darklands, she could put his men at risk.
And in his dreams, she’d certainly tried to get him to do what only a Darkland would do. To bite her…and then who knew what might follow. Perhaps, he would kill her and his soul along with her.
“You’ll see your sister when I say you see her. Let our Healer do her job.” He turned away from her giving Rinehart an order. “Take her to a room and keep her there until I say otherwise.” With the words, he started for the house.
“What?” she gasped, yelling behind him. “No! Take me to my sister.”
The sound of a struggle followed, but Jag didn’t look back. Didn’t even consider responding. He needed space and time to think. Time without this woman making his body rage with lust.
Only minutes after leaving his men to deal with the blond spitfire, Jag reached beneath the long, leather-covered bar in the far corner of the den. Grabbing a glass, he filled it with Bourbon, and took a much-needed drink. The caramel-colored liquid warmed his throat and bit at his tongue, giving his senses something to focus on besides the stranger who’d invaded his life.
His eyes traveled the walls lined with rows of books. Unbid
den, Caron came to mind. She’d collected personal travel journals from anyone who would give them to her, using them to imagine where her father, a part of LaSalle’s explorations, might be. She would talk for hours on end about what she’d read, what she imagined.
He eyed the volumes of fiction, history, science around him, all of which he’d touched, read and studied. In his overly long life, he’d had plenty of time to look and learn. If only one of those books held the answers he needed. But none of them did. A world of knowledge filled this room, but not one bit of it answered the questions he needed answered.
A knock sounded on the door a second before it opened. It wasn’t a surprise when Des showed himself, not bothering to wait for an answer. No other would do such a thing. Des strode into the room, quickly shutting the door again and crossing to the bar.
“Chingado,” Des muttered as he walked, sliding onto a high-back stool and then pressing his hands onto the bar as if exhausted. “I need a drink.” He shook his head. “Talk about wild. That blonde you hauled in is a hellion. Your horse might not deserve to be named after the devil, but that woman upstairs, her I’d call Diablo.”
Jag tightened his grip on the Bourbon bottle. Of all the things for Des to call her…“Why do you say that?”
“Pour,” Des said, motioning to the bottle, his brows dipping. When Jag didn’t respond quickly enough, he motioned again. “I’m thirsty, man.”
Jag ground his teeth and poured. “You think the woman is evil.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand, urgent to be fulfilled.
“If kicking a man in the balls isn’t evil, then I don’t know what the hell is.”
Des tipped back his glass, emptied it in a long drink and then set it on the bar. He motioned for a refill. It was hard for a Knight to get drunk, often taking double the alcohol it would a human, but occasionally, Des gave it a good effort. Apparently tonight was one of those occasions.
Jag poured. “She kicked you in the balls?”
“Not me,” Des said with a disbelieving snort. “Since when did a woman land a knee anywhere I didn’t want her to?”
Jag understood. “Rock.” The young Knight had a lot to learn.
“Shit, yes,” Des confirmed. “Kicked him wicked hard, too.” He grimaced and took a drink as if the thought made him need it. When he set his glass down, he held up two fingers. “Twice.”
Jag and Des stared at each other and then, at the same moment, burst into laugher. Though Jag knew this wasn’t the time to be joking around, he couldn’t help responding. Des had that effect on him for some unexplainable reason. Nobody else had the ability to take the edge off his dark mood. And, as often before, the shared laughter with his most trusted Knight, offered a badly needed moment of escape from Jag’s tightly wound emotions.
“That boy can find trouble, can’t he?” Jag asked, shaking his head, and resting weight on the bar, palms down.
“Sometimes, I think he looks for it,” Des said, and some of the playfulness slid from his voice.
“He’s only been a Knight for twenty-five years.” Then because, he knew it would bug Des, he added, “Believe it or not, you weren’t so different in your beginning.”
Des gave him a disbelieving look. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just insult me simply because we have business to attend to.”
Jag let one brow lift in question, having no intention of giving away anything Des didn’t pry out of him. How did he explain what he didn’t understand himself?
“Who is she, Jag?” Des asked, getting back to the obvious question burning in his mind. “We both know this isn’t some random Darkland attack.”
“Probably not,” Jag answered, knowing Des was putting together the pieces of the puzzle and he might as well just tell him what was going on.
“This has something to do with why you went to see Salvador.” He let the words settle between them, then, “Because of that woman.”
Jag gave him a quick nod but offered nothing more. “Right.”
Des sat there several seconds as if he expected Jag to explain. Finally he cut a hand through the air in obvious frustration then pressed his palms to his jeans-clad thighs. “Okay,” Des said. “This is like pulling teeth. Let’s take this slowly. You went to see Salvador and you already knew about the woman.”
“Right,” Jag reluctantly agreed. “I knew about her but not the sister.”
“How?” Des questioned, shooting the one word challenge back in a flash. “Who is she?”
“I’ve…” Jag hesitated.
He trusted Des, but this was complicated. As the leader of the Knights he had to be strong. To admit this woman haunted his dreams might cause concern or weaken him in their eyes. He couldn’t allow that. His ability to lead helped keep them alive. No. For now he had to keep his mouth shut. Until he knew more.
Des motioned with his hand. “You’ve what?”
“Nothing.” Jag said, and then grabbed control, sliding into leadership mode, the place he went to erect his walls. “For the moment, I want the two separated and under lock and key. No one goes near them unless absolutely necessary. And I need a report on the condition of the injured one ASAP.”
Silence.
The two Knights stared at each other. Des searched Jag’s face for long moments. Then, clearly deciding he’d pushed as hard as he could get away with, he stood up. “Just answer one question. What’s our agenda with these women? Are we treating them as the enemy, or protecting them?”
“I’ll let you know when I decide,” Jag answered.
Des took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, feeling the pulse of urgency in his blood. What the hell was going on?
He needed answers. Something wasn’t right with Jag. He’d sensed it earlier. He knew it now. Jag didn’t shut him out like this. Not for years. He shut everyone else out but not him. Not Des. Not after the years of fighting side by side. Of watching each other’s backs. Of nights when all seemed lost when they would find a bottle and spill stories of their pasts. Things they would swear weren’t true in dawn’s light but they both knew they were real.
They trusted each other.
And Jag didn’t shut Des out.
Des ground his teeth. But Jag had shut him out. He damn sure had. Somehow, Des had been demoted to the same spot as sex in Jag’s life…necessary thus tolerated. Chingado, he thought, trying to process the implications.
Sex might be the problem. His kind couldn’t deprive their urges, or it made them a bit whacked out. It brought home the beast. Jag thought the opposite might just happen one day, so he hid from his needs. It was one of the only subjects he’d ever disagree with their leader on.
How long had it been since Jag had been with a woman?
Too long, for certain.
Taking the last step to the upper level, Des found Rock standing outside one of the spare rooms, door open to display Marisol, leaning over the sick woman.
Des’s nostrils flared with the soft scent of candles burning. “How is she?” he asked, focusing on Rock again, not surprised he was here. It was obvious the young Knight wanted the Healer in a big way.
Like that was ever going to happen.
Healers had a higher purpose, and temptations of the flesh were forbidden for them. Des had known several Healers in his century of life. They tended to be rather secretive about those higher purposes, but all of them, every last one, treated the rules placed upon them like gold.
But this was Rock we were talking about. Lord only knew, he loved to break the rules. Rock might do his thing with other women, but only because he had no other choice. Des bet the sick bastard was even thinking about Marisol while he was with the others.
“The woman isn’t responding,” Rock said. “Marisol’s concerned.”
Great. She wouldn’t be talking soon. Des needed something, anything, to go on here. “Do we at least know her name?”
“Eva,” Rock said. A pounding on the shut door directly to Des’s left started, and Rock groaned. “That one
is Karen. The loud one I can’t get to,” he raised his voice, “shut the hell up.” He returned to his normal voice. “You know Marisol needs quiet to heal.” He leaned inside the room where Marisol worked and whispered an apology before pulling the door shut. “If Karen knows what’s good for her sister, she’ll zip it.”
Des eyed the door where a new roar of pounding started. He walked to it, resting his palm on the surface, considering his options. Perhaps talking to Karen about her sister. About Jag.
But as he flattened his hands on the wood, he felt heat radiating through the door. Des pulled his hands away, realizing Karen had been touching the surface at the same time he had. Awareness and warning rushed through his body, like a red alert going off in his mind. Taking a step backward, Des was shocked at the magnitude of what he felt.
As a Knight, in battle, he often felt a force behind him. A power he didn’t even try to understand. There was something otherworldly about who and what they were and they all knew it. Secrets surrounded them that even, they, the Knights of White themselves, didn’t understand.
Yet, right now, with fire burning a warning in his veins, he knew something big was about to happen. Something beyond anything he’d faced as of yet.
And the woman behind that door—perhaps more beast than beauty—was at the heart of it.
Chapter 6
Jag found Rock standing guard outside Karen’s room. Karen. He knew her name now. And it made him angry. Karen. His wife, an Italian immigrant, had been the Italian version, Caron. She’d settled in Texas in 1841, near his family ranch. Next door, in fact.
He’d never spoken his wife’s name to any of his Knights…not even Des. Not to anyone but Salvador. It had been all Jag could do to hide his shock when Des had told him this new visitor’s name. What kind of game was this and who was the instigator?
He wanted answers and he wanted them now.
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