by Lynda Aicher
The sensitive skin of her fingertips brushed over the etched wood before she grabbed the small box in her hand. Relief, like nothing she’d ever felt before, rushed through in a raw waterfall of emotion. The burning on her hand instantly cooled, and her panic descended in a crescendo of stark, jagged breaths.
It was there. Still hers.
Slowly, almost afraid to be wrong, she pulled the box from beneath the material. She flipped the lock, springing the lid open to see the stone glistening within the folds of the violet cloth. Visual confirmation set loose a swarm of butterflies to flutter wildly within her chest.
She snapped the lid closed and rested back on her heels, her fingers gliding gently over the carvings in reverent wonder. The air in the shop hung heavy, expectation and anticipation all jumbled into one tense ball of sensation. The energy was almost tangible, enticing her to claim what was hers.
To possess what she so desperately wanted.
She clenched the box to her chest that heaved with anxious gulps of stale air. Mine. Yes, she would claim it. It was too hard to ignore and deny. The contents of the beautiful little box belonged to her.
She pushed to her feet and crunched over the broken glass on shaky legs to reach the back counter. Using her arm, she brushed the pens, paper and random objects out of the way, uncaring of where they landed. She set the box down in the newly cleared spot and simply stared at it. How did it hold so much power over her?
Power?
Yes, power. That’s exactly what it was. There was no other word to describe the control it seemed to have imposed on her since the moment the box had been shoved into her hands.
Amber lifted her gaze from the box to survey the room, which she had ignored up till now. Quick, analytical eyes took in every detail of the shambled destruction. The beloved Edwardian writing desk sitting tilted on its side. The treasured, Noritake crystal serving pieces shattered in their case and scattered across the floor. Even the enormous grandfather clock that had honored the back wall with its grace and strength since the shop opened was lying face down in a pile of splintered wood.
Nothing had escaped the wrath of the assailant. Every piece of furniture was broken, every mirror cracked, every fragile piece of glass shattered. Pictures were torn from the walls and savagely cut apart. Clouds of fluff billowed around the room, ripped from chair cushions and decorative pillows.
Clearly, the intent had been destruction, not theft. The formally cozy, welcoming shop now felt cold and violated.
Much like herself.
Biting down on her bottom lip, Amber gathered her courage and opened the box once again.
The stone glimmered in stunning shades of violet that randomly reminded her of the crisp, silk scarf that had encased the neck of her CEO. But the colors evolved, moved and changed, ascending upon each other—violet, amethyst, purple, gold—drawing her into the stone’s depths as it sparkled with an unnatural light that defied logic.
And it called to her. Whispered enchantments. Promises. Beckoning her to claim it. The air sparked with electricity, snapping with small pops of static as it charged around her. The odd occurrence only registered in Amber’s peripheral awareness as her sole focus now was the stone and her need to possess it.
Her heart raced, and her breath stilled. The stone was reaching out to her like physical fingers pulling her closer.
Closer.
Urging her to touch it until she had to comply. She wanted to comply. She was incapable of resisting. She reached her hand out, following the call of the stone. Everything in her demanded she make it hers.
Her hand hovered over the shining gem. The air held its breath, and her pulse slowed before her fingers drifted down to cover the stone.
A bolt of searing hot force shot through Amber’s hand, up her arm and through her body like a jolt of lightning signing a note of pure power. She lifted the stone out of the case to reveal that it was attached to a long, gold chain made of tiny, delicate links. It pulsed in her palm in sync with her heartbeat, sending waves of scorching energy with each repeated throb.
She stared in wonder at the breathtaking brilliance she held captive. The stone was amazing. It was pure beauty, warmth and brilliance all in one.
It was hers.
A sudden chill ran up her spine and Amber jerked out of her trance with a sense of danger. But from where and why? The shadows in the room appeared to grow longer, darker, closer. The air felt tight, crushing her like a physical weight.
She shoved away from the counter and pressed against the wall. The energy in the room crackled with expectation. She scanned the area searching for what, she didn’t know.
Suddenly, the air shifted and pushed against her in a quick gush of force.
“What in the…?” Her words died out as the figure formed before her. Where there was once just space, a man now stood. Solid and strong. Six foot six inches of pure testosterone. And not just any man.
It was her CEO. The man who stole her breath, hunted her with his eyes and made her heart race.
Without a thought, Amber launched herself at the form. It had to be a figment of her imagination. Gorgeous men did not form out of thin air.
She slammed into the wall that was the man’s chest, igniting a fire inside her and knocking the wind out of her for the second time that day.
Damn. He was real.
She scrambled away, confused and terrified. The sound of the air rushing through her nostrils in short, panicked puffs and the sharp bite of her teeth on her lips told her she was awake. This wasn’t a dream.
The man commanded attention from his solid, stiff shoulders down to his firm, wide-spread stance. He was still dressed in the black wool trench coat and slacks he had worn to the rally, complete with the violet silk scarf tucked neatly into the folds of his coat. Like always, he reeked of authority.
He was a man who was used to being obeyed.
His deep blue eyes penetrated her with precision and calculation. He scanned her from toe to head and back down, a perusal that left her skin tingling under his gaze. His assessment halted to focus on the fist that had a death grip on the stone.
He stepped forward and grabbed her wrist in one lightning-quick motion. His fingers clamped around the fragile bones, firm, but not painful. The restraint only underlined his strength. Amber yanked on her arm to pull it out of his grasp, but he held firm.
“No.” He couldn’t have it. It belonged to her.
Heat seared through the thin layer of her shirt where his long, strong fingers circled her wrist. The bird mark tingled with an awareness that was almost welcoming. It didn’t burn like she’d become accustomed to. Instead it rippled with warm, soothing waves of…longing.
“Let me go,” Amber demanded. “What do you want?”
She watched, entrapped both physically and mentally by the man before her. His focus was on her hand, not the object she held within it. He didn’t lift his head or meet her eyes. Instead, he slowly reached out his other hand and pushed up the material of her shirt, revealing the stark, white bird etched into her skin.
His breath hitched, and his hand stilled a moment before his fingertips brushed lightly across the surface of her skin in an elegant caress over the bird. The touch left a trail of heat, the warmth reaching deep into her body. She was certain her imagination was running crazy because it felt like the bird shuddered in delight. The sensation rebounded within her. She bit down on her tongue to hold back the startled gasp that threatened to betray her.
“You are the Marked One,” his deep voice murmured, an edge of awe mingled with the words. His fingers still stroked the bird in seemingly absent wonder.
“What?” she croaked. Amber cleared her throat and tried again, desperate to sound coherent and unafraid. The energy poured out of the stone and swirled around them in hot, vibrating waves. “What do you want? Why are you here?”
“You are the Marked One.” His voice was stronger, more insistent.
Her breath stuck in her lungs as
her mind flashed back to the alley. To the exact words the Asian said before he gave her the stone: We are not the enemy of the Marked One.
“What are you talking about?” What the hell was the ‘Marked One’?
He jerked his head up, his eyes locking with hers to silently convey the importance of his next statement. “The one who bears the mark of the white bird will have the power to change the world.”
She broke eye contact and looked down at the bird etched on her skin. Despite the profound statement just made by the overwhelming man before her, relief flooded her system.
He didn’t want the stone. It was still hers.
She was the one.
This woman who pulled at him. Who enticed and lured him like no other.
She was the one who could save him. The one who could return everything he had lost. His family, his status, his community and most of all, respect from the people who really mattered—the Energens.
Excitement whipped through him, awakened from a long, dormant absence, forcing Damian to call on the patience that had served him so well. He had to temper the anticipation with the calm, icy reality of all that must be done. He studied his lost beauty, ignoring the heat that radiated up his arm from her wrist and the energy that was attempting to suck him in, closer to her.
Her gaze lifted from her hand to stare at him in defiant resignation. Her chin was tilted up, showing off her strong jaw and graceful neck. But it was her eyes that captured him, as they always did. They were a stunning shade of hazel and gold rimmed with long, dark lashes. He felt like he was staring at a pair of precious jewels that currently sparked with shock, fear and a touch of strength. Her eyes were a deadly weapon she wielded without knowledge.
His body responded immediately, tightening and rippling with the energy that pulled at him. He was instantly in tune with her like he’d known her forever.
As if she belonged to him.
Impossible.
Stifling the strange notion, he focused on the task. “You called me here. Why?”
“I what?” the beauty sputtered, then her eyes narrowed and her back stiffened. “I did not call you here.” She paused as if a thought just took hold. “How did you get here?”
Her voice held strong even as she jerked on the arm he held hostage. There was no pretense that she didn’t recognize him. No shock of amazement or fainting that might consume a weaker woman. Giving her a brief explanation could go a long way in gaining her trust.
A trust that would get him what he needed.
“The energy called me here. To you. You bear the sign of the Marked One.” His fingers skimmed over the mark of the bird once again. “The sign to all in the Energy races that the Great War is coming.” There, done. “Now, you must come with me.”
Shock flashed across her face, her golden eyes sparking with irritation. “Do I look crazy to you?”
His gut clenched, desire pulling hot against the pooling energy that built in his system. No. Crazy was definitely not how he would describe her.
He raised an eyebrow. “So it’s common for strange men to appear before you out of thin air?” Her suddenly still, pale face brought a small quirk of satisfaction as the question hit its mark. “I was called here for a reason. How did you do it?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
The ring of truth in her voice gave him pause. Was it possible she really didn’t know what was going on? Was she that innocent, that unaware of what she was? “You did something. The energy was clear, pure—stronger than any I’ve ever felt. It still is.”
Her fist clenched around an object in her hand. Damian flipped her wrist to see what she held. He inhaled sharply in stunned silence when he saw the stone gripped tightly within her grasp.
“Where did you get that?”
Once again she pulled on her arm. “It’s mine,” she stated almost desperately. “It’s just a stone.”
He chuckled softly. “Wrong. I think we both know it’s more than just a stone. Its beauty alone screams of power and reverence. And if that wasn’t enough, the energy it emanates is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.” He twisted her wrist from side to side to get a better look at the object. Oddly, he had no desire to take it from her.
The stone appeared almost fluid, churning in varying shades of violet, white and gold that continually climbed over each other in a persistent struggle for dominance. More importantly, it hummed with power. Old, ancient, enchanted. It was strength in its purest form.
It was a power that would be sought by many. Just like the Marked One would be.
With reluctance, he let go of her wrist and instantly felt the missing connection. His fingers stung like they had fallen asleep and were trying to reawaken. But then he realized his entire body felt that way. His blood pumped and hummed with renewed vitality.
The urgency pushed at him. They needed to move before others arrived. He picked up the small wooden box that sat open on the counter, extracting the simple gold circle that rested within it before closing and pocketing the box.
Damian stepped forward and pulled her into his embrace before she could protest.
“It’s time to go.”
The simple words were the only warning she received before he dissipated out of the small shop with his beauty clamped firmly in his arms.
Chapter Seven
Amber felt oddly free and light. She held on to Damian like he was her lifeline. Hell, he was her lifeline. Letting go was not an option.
In a flash of light, the world solidified, and her feet landed on solid ground. Her arms continued to grip the strong body in front of her. Within his sheltering hold, the energy—that fiery sensation that burned and tingled as it raced through her whenever he touched her—encased her.
For just a moment, she embraced that elusive feeling of being protected and safe. Slowly, her stomach settled and her mind responded to the surroundings.
It was freezing.
A cold wind pummeled them in its furry and blew through the thin layer of her cotton shirt like it was tissue paper. She shivered and fought the disturbing desire to stay huddled against the large frame that was providing the only source of warmth. But sanity snapped back into place.
Amber pushed hard upon the solid chest in front of her and stepped out of his arms. Instantly, she felt the sudden emptiness as the fire ceased. She was aware that he let her go. He might be the executive of some big company, but the solid muscle under his expensive clothing was proof that he was no pencil-pushing figurehead.
She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to retain the receding heat and block the icy wind. She shivered again and shoved her clenched fists under her armpits to keep them from becoming popsicles.
He stood there guarded and silent—watching her.
“Where are we?” Her anger quickly pushed back the rising panic and overtook the original shock that had numbed her.
He reached up and extracted the violet scarf from around his neck. “North Dakota.”
“What?” Her mouth hung open in disbelief. Her misfiring brain cells held her in place as she tried to process his words. Slowly, Amber turned her head and took stock of her surroundings.
They were standing on the front porch of an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, North Dakota, if she was to believe him. There was nothing but drifting snow banks and open fields broken up by the occasional tree line as far as she could see. It was harsh, brutal and eerily empty.
Taking advantage of her frozen astonishment, Damian stepped forward and wrapped his scarf around her neck. With surprising tenderness, he carefully pulled the length of her hair out from under the scarf so the soft material was tucked against the skin of her neck.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked numbly. She would ignore the question of how for the moment. There was only so much information she could process at one time.
Damian stared at the nondescript wooden door of the farmhouse. “This is the eastern entrance to my…” He bit back his words, a
brief flash of pain crossing his face. “The enclave.”
“Here? In the middle of nowhere, North Dakota?” She whipped out her arm and motioned at the barren landscape to emphasize her point.
His lips curled in a quirk of humor. “Yeah, doesn’t seem like a very smart choice.” He scanned the empty, cold land, a blank look holding his face. “When we first came to this land, it was wild and free, nothing but open space. Two thousand years ago, the entire continent was unclaimed. The location was chosen because of what it provided.”
She stifled a shiver. When he didn’t continue, she prompted, “And?”
He looked back at her. “And it suited our needs. Here,” he said, removing his long, wool coat and holding it open for her.
She lifted an eyebrow, doubting his sudden kindness.
“You’re freezing.” He lifted the coat slightly. “Please, put this on. It is not my intent to freeze you to death.”
Reluctant to trust his motivation, she was too logical to stand there shivering when a warm, winter coat was being offered. She turned and quickly shoved her arms into the waiting coat and tightened it around her. Instantly the shaking in her limbs stilled. His lingering warmth surrounded her and brought with it the faint hint of pine that she was beginning to associate with him.
Once again, he gently, almost reverently, pulled her long hair out from where it was trapped between the coat and her back letting it run through his fingers until it hung free. The soft caress sent whispers of pleasure coursing over her scalp and down her spine.
Unnerved by his kindness, she jerked away from his touch and spun back around, eyeing him warily. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, but otherwise showed no outward effect of being exposed to the cold weather. Evidently, the black wool suit jacket was warmer than it looked.
“Where did you get the stone?” he demanded softly.
She hesitated, her fist clenching tighter around the object in question, before admitting, “It was given to me.”