Knights of White Bundle

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Karen prayed Jag meant his words, that she was now free to leave the room and see her sister. Seeing the proof, that her sister was okay, would help her solidify her choices. She should be with Eva, helping her through this. Surely Jag understood this.

  How easily she used his name, Karen realized.

  A sultry replay of her dream formed in her mind, engaging her with questions, and the need for answers. How could she have dreamed of Jag in the past, before meeting him? And why couldn’t she remember them until now? Then there was the big question—why did she heat when he looked at her and downright melt at his touch?

  Did she know Jag before spotting him at the airport?

  Perhaps she did.

  Somehow. Someway. Yes. She thought that must be the case. Maybe the memory was suppressed, hidden in dreams she’d buried deep in the night. Perhaps seeing him, being here, had brought them to the surface. It appeared the only logical answer.

  People didn’t dream of strangers they’d never set eyes on. She laughed, but not with humor, sinking onto the mattress as she felt her legs wobble a bit, exhaustion ever-present.

  If she didn’t know Jag before today, then meeting him in her dreams had to be…what? She laughed again, feeling a bit crazy as she formed an explanation.

  Magic?

  The word made her stomach lurch, as if her body knew a truth she hadn’t accepted. Monsters and monster hunters…if she’d come here, daring to believe monsters might be true, then why not magic?

  Running a rough hand through her tousled hair, Karen’s nostrils flared with a whiff of spicy male. Jag’s scent was all over her, teasing her with its presence. Reminding her of his kiss. Of his taste.

  Karen paced faster, squeezing her eyes shut, and trying to block out the image of Jag’s hand in her hair. On her body. In her dreams.

  Karen’s gaze jerked to the door as she heard it being unlocked. A second later, it slowly creaked open. One of the men who’d locked her away stood in the doorway.

  Tall and broad, with ultrashort hair, a square jaw and a cowboy hat, this man was nothing like his boss. Nothing like Jag. No, this man looked and felt more “American Pie” mixed with “Bad Boy,” as if he was a good guy trying to hide behind wild ways. Jag didn’t hide. His exotic appearance spoke loudly of true darkness. He oozed danger. Darkness. Sensual power.

  “Name’s Rock, ma’am,” her visitor said, his broad shoulders taking up the entire width of the doorway. “I’m here to take you to see your sister.”

  Relief washed over her. Getting to Eva was all that mattered right now and knowing her sister was safe. Pushing to her feet, Karen wasn’t about to argue. “Great. Where is she?”

  “Right across the hall,” he said, motioning for her to follow. He started to turn, and hesitated, tipping his hat back with his index finger. “Sorry we got off to a bad start. I, um, know this thing with your sister must have you pretty raw.”

  His words surprised her. Karen searched his face, focusing on his deep-set hazel eyes, for the sincerity she heard in his voice. And she found it there. Found sincerity and more. For an instant—just one—she saw shared pain.

  Rock understood her fear for her sister.

  He’d lost someone he loved very deeply before that person’s time.

  Without another word, he moved to the hallway, and eager to find Eva, to see that she was safe and okay, Karen followed.

  A few moments later, with Rock on her heels, Karen entered a dimly lit room, a plain white shade covering a lone window. Adjusting to the lighting, Karen brought the twin-size bed into focus.

  The instant she saw her sister, Karen went cold inside, her chest tightening.

  Gone was the vibrant woman she knew as her sister, the one so full of life and love, as well as fears. In her place rested a pale, unmoving stranger, dark circles under her closed eyes. Brownish black lashes framing her cheeks. Karen swallowed against a rush of emotion, barely able to breathe as fear tried to take hold.

  She forced out the question she needed answered but was afraid to ask. “Is she…dead?”

  “Sleeping,” Rock said.

  Relief washed over her. Karen stepped forward, easing onto the edge of the mattress and reaching for her sister’s hand. “Eva?”

  Nothing. Not even a hint of response.

  Karen leaned forward and brushed her knuckles over her cheek. “Eva, sweetie. Come back to me.” Tears burned in the back of her eyes. “Please come back to me, baby.”

  Swiping at the lone droplet that slid from her eye, Karen eyed the room. There was no sign of medical tools or machines. No hope of life support. She was crazy to be here. Crazy.

  “Where is the Healer?”

  “I’m Marisol.”

  Karen turned to find a young woman—not more than twenty-four or five—with long, dark hair standing just inside the room. Dressed to blend in with the surroundings, she wore faded jeans, boots and a T-shirt. With her heart-shaped face, pointed chin and luminous eyes, she looked almost angelic. Her youthful appearance gave her a childlike appearance.

  Karen laughed, but not with humor. With disbelief and a bit of panic for Eva’s well-being. She pushed to her feet, facing the new visitor. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’m taking good care of Eva, Karen,” the woman said in a low voice. “I promise you I will do everything in my power to bring her back to you. You have to trust me.”

  “Right.” Karen raised her hands to the room. “You don’t even have any medical supplies.”

  “Because that won’t help your sister, and I believe you know that. You came here for a reason. You came because you knew she needed help she couldn’t get any other place.”

  Karen rejected her words and glanced at Eva’s pale features, noting again the dark circles on her pasty-white skin. It was time to stop this foolishness. Eva had gotten worse, not better, since their arrival.

  “I want to talk to Jag, and I want to talk to him now.” Her voice trembled with emotion, with fear and anger. “I will not stay here a minute longer.”

  She’d barely finished her sentence when Rock moved. He pulled a knife from Lord only knew where, and in a flash of movement sliced his palm deep. He held it out, blood trickling to the ground, the gouge of the wound evident.

  Karen gasped, feeling like she’d been kicked in the chest. She sank back onto the bed, shocked and fearful of what he would do next.

  The Healer looked at Rock with outrage. “Are you trying to scare the hell out of her?”

  In response, Rock stepped closer to the Healer, his big body dwarfing her tiny one. He shoved his hand at the Healer, the knife still in his other. “Fix me.”

  With a deep breath, she grabbed his wrist. “Hold it open.”

  Karen watched in amazement as the Healer held her palm above Rock’s, a glow spilling from her hand to his. A minute later, the Healer let go of his wrist. “Don’t do that again,” she said in reprimand.

  “Whatever you say, Marisol,” he said, his voice low. Then, he looked at Karen and held up his palm for her to inspect.

  Blinking, Karen took in the sight before her. It couldn’t be. She blinked again. The wound was healed. The huge slash in his hand was completely sealed. Remnants of blood stained his hand as proof that the wound had existed, but there was no other evidence at all.

  Fingers digging into the mattress, Karen digested what had just happened. Either she was going completely freaking nuts, or she’d just seen proof that magic—miracles—existed.

  Slowly her gaze turned to Eva, taking in her sister with a sickening feeling of loss. If magic existed, monsters did, too. Deep down, she already knew it was true. The Healer was right. Karen had come here for a reason. She knew this place, these people, were her only hope of saving her sister.

  “I’ll need your help to save her,” the Healer said, her voice near.

  Karen looked up to see the woman standing by her side. She drew a deep breath and reached deep inside for her response.

  And then she
took a leap of faith. “What do I need to do?”

  Chapter 11

  Jag was the leader of a bunch of immortal monster hunters. No. Beasts. Marisol had called them beasts.

  From what she understood, there were about twenty “trainees” on the property, and a core group of five Knights who worked directly with Jag. Men he kept close, who helped him train and place other Knights outside of their facility. All those years growing up near this place, she’d thought it was a horse ranch, thought the rumors of the monster hunters living here to be silly.

  Karen sat at a very normal-looking, wooden kitchen table, tucked in the corner of a very normal-looking kitchen. In front of her was a bowl of macaroni and cheese.

  A quite normal meal.

  But it was a facade.

  This normal-looking room sat in the middle of a training facility for what she now knew to be the “Knights of White.” After hours of talking with Marisol, hearing about the “beasts,” Karen was quite certain nothing in life would ever be “normal” again.

  Especially Eva.

  Marisol had worked hard, with Karen’s assistance to revive her sister. The results had been dismal at best. Eva had tossed and turned as Marisol had tried to heal her. And no matter how hard Karen had tried to calm her sister, she hadn’t been able to.

  Eva seemed lost, gone forever.

  Marisol set a glass of soda on the table and then claimed the seat next to Karen. “I can feel your exhaustion.”

  Karen would have responded, but she had just shoveled a spoon into her mouth. The minute the food hit her taste buds, her stomach growled. It was as if it had gone into hibernation and just woken up. “God. I was hungrier than I thought. It’s been forever since I ate.”

  “Makes mac and cheese taste like lobster, doesn’t it?” Marisol asked, offering a smile.

  “I love this stuff,” Karen said. “I’d take mac and cheese over lobster anyday.” She’d mentioned her travel reporting during their earlier talks. “None of my travel is in the States, so it’s not easy to get some of the things I enjoy. The last time I was in the States, I packed Kraft Easy Mac to take on the road.”

  Marisol finished off a bite of food. “It must be fun seeing places and getting paid for it.”

  Karen shrugged, guilt stabbing at her gut and zapping her appetite again. “I guess. Maybe.” She hesitated, needing a friend. Marisol already felt comfortable. Almost familiar. Much like Jag…Well, not like Jag, but familiar all the same. “It also took me away from my sister when she obviously needed me.”

  Marisol set her spoon down. “You didn’t do this to Eva. The Darklands did.”

  “But—”

  “There is no but. You feel the guilt because you love her, not because it’s deserved. Besides, we aren’t done fighting. If I can’t fix this, Jag can.”

  Karen took a drink, trying to hide the way just hearing Jag’s name affected her. For hours, she’d hoped to see him. She told herself it was to curse him for treating her as he had, but it was more than that. Even his name seduced her senses. Jag…did things to her.

  “Talking about Jag makes you nervous.”

  Karen’s eyes darted to Marisol’s, surprised at her intuitiveness. “He locked me in a room. Nervousness is to be expected, isn’t it?” She didn’t give the Healer time to respond. “What can Jag do to help Eva?”

  “If he can find the beast controlling your sister and kill it, then Eva will be free.” She hesitated. “Karen, we need to talk about a few things and they need to stay between us.”

  Karen’s eyes narrowed on Marisol. “Who would I tell?”

  “I know things even Jag doesn’t know I know. Things that have allowed me to come to a few conclusions I think you have a right to know.”

  “Like?” Karen asked, hoping for answers to questions she wasn’t even sure she knew to ask.

  “Jag had a wife once. Most know that, but they don’t know her name.”

  “He told me,” Karen said. “Caron. The same as mine.”

  Surprised registered on Marisol’s face. “I don’t know of anyone he’s ever shared that with.”

  “He only told me because he wanted me to understand why someone is using me to get to him.”

  “Through your dreams,” Marisol said, but seemed to already know.

  “Right,” Karen said, twirling the fork in her fingers, a bit uncomfortable. She liked Marisol, even felt instant trust with her, but this was confusing, and honestly, she didn’t want to share the nature of the dreams. “Can you make them stop?”

  “I don’t know,” Marisol said, her response a bit slow. “And I’m not sure I should even if I can.”

  Karen stiffened. “Why?” she demanded, her voice a bit rough and she knew it. “I don’t understand?”

  “I bet you didn’t know that Caron’s father was an explorer. He traveled the world and Caron wanted to do the same. She collected journals from him and from other explorers. She used to read them to Jag.”

  The words stroked something far in her mind. Something buried. Karen shook her head, wanting all of this confusion to end. “I don’t see what that has to do with the dreams.”

  “You write for a travel magazine,” Marisol said. “You travel the world.”

  Karen laughed, but not with humor. The words hit home, refusing to be ignored. “Surely you’re not suggesting there’s a connection between Caron and me?”

  “I’m simply suggesting you open your mind to possibilities,” Marisol offered. “Before we try to get rid of the dreams, make sure they don’t hold answers we need.” She considered a moment and then added, “You need. What if those dreams represent the path to saving both your sister and Jag?”

  Before Karen could respond, male voices, followed by laughter, filled the air. “I’m freaking starving.” Another bark of laughter. “First food. Then a nice long-legged blonde, I think.”

  A not so polite reply followed, and then the laughter seemed to fade. Karen and Marisol exchanged a look. “Sorry,” Marisol said. “Living with a houseful of men you get that.”

  Whistling filled the air, a familiar tune Karen couldn’t quite place. It ended abruptly as a shirtless male appeared in the kitchen. Karen’s eyes went wide. This wasn’t just a male. It was a large, incredibly sexy, half-dressed male.

  The testosterone in this place was almost overwhelming.

  Sweats hanging low on his hips, the newcomer displayed abs-of-steel, a broad chest, and defined shoulders. The towel thrown over his shoulder, his auburn chin-length hair barely contained in a tie at the back of his neck, suggested that he’d just finished a workout.

  “Am I interrupting?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Marisol said, “but it’s not like you care.” She gave Karen a knowing look. “Meet Des, the Knight with the biggest ego.”

  Des winked at the ladies and yanked open the fridge, pulling out a jug of milk and kicking the door shut again. “Confidence does not equal ego,” he countered, grabbing a glass from a cabinet, biceps flexing with the movement.

  Marisol rolled her eyes. “Please.” She looked at Karen. “He’s as arrogant as they come.”

  “And adorable,” he said. “Don’t forget adorable.” With a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter and a knife in hand, Des sat down across from Karen. “She loves me. Can you tell?”

  At closer view, Karen knew this man. Knew the scar down his cheek. Memories of being carried up the stairs by several men came back with a bitter bite. “You helped lock me away.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he said, scooping peanut butter on a slice of bread. “You were too much for Rock and Rinehart, poor guys.” He smiled. “Nothing personal. Just doing as I was told.”

  “By Jag.”

  He shrugged. “He’s the boss.”

  “And you do whatever he says.”

  “Jag doesn’t do anything without cause.”

  “He locked me up.”

  “He had a reason.”

  She wanted to scream. “Which was?”
r />   “You tell me,” he said, taking a bite of his peanut butter-covered bread and swallowing.

  Karen leaned back in her chair as if slapped. The truth was, she knew why. She just didn’t like it. That Jag treated her like an enemy, even now, upset her in a deep way. But yes, she knew why he’d acted as he had. The dreams…but she didn’t create them. She lived them as much as he did. For all she knew, Jag had been the one…No. She knew that wasn’t true. He feared those dreams. Maybe not inside them, but later, after. Karen didn’t know what to think about all of this. Her mind raced with the implications of Marisol’s words. She needed some time to think. To process. This was all too overwhelming.

  “Love this stuff,” Des said, slapping more peanut butter on his bread. “You know it’s only been around about fifty years, and for the longest time, we couldn’t get it in Texas.” He looked at them and a light seemed to go on in his eyes. “Want some?” He lifted the jar toward Karen and then Marisol.

  Marisol made a face at him. “No, we don’t want some. And stop causing trouble. If you’d carried me to a room and locked me up, I’d be furious. It’s a miracle Karen is being as accepting as she is. Poor thing has been through hell.”

  “How is the sister?” Des asked, his attention on Marisol, his mood suddenly serious.

  Karen answered before Marisol could, not liking the way he talked about Eva like some “thing.” “My sister isn’t good at all.”

  “No, she’s not good at all,” Marisol agreed. “We need to talk to Jag.”

  “Talk to me about what?”

  Karen felt the voice even before she saw the man. Jag stood just inside the kitchen, just as Des had only minutes before, but the impact of his presence yielded one hundred times the amount Des’s had. He took over the room, took over her, his powerful aura like fire lighting the air with sparks.

  Des scooted his chair around to better see Jag. In doing so, he put Karen in Jag’s direct line of vision. Their eyes locked, and she felt the connection clear to her toes. Good Lord, a connection beyond this moment. A connection two people shared who knew each other well.