Into His Command

by Angel Payne

  My daydreams always had the shittiest timing.

  Jagger spotted the distraction in my eyes. He swept in, scooping his right foot behind my left ankle, instantly sending me ass-over-elbows. I sprawled flat on my back, the fresh spring grass jabbing through my lightweight training wear. The bright Arcadian sun glared into my eyes.

  “Oof!” I pushed up, ready to pop back to my feet. “Motherf—” And again hit the barrier of his boot, planted to my sternum.

  Jag arched his russet brows. No added smirk this time. Wise move. “Well. You have not forgotten how to swear like a man.”

  “Bonsun! Let me up.”

  “Impressive. Profanity in two languages today.”

  “Let me up, Jag.”

  “Not until I have your promise of twenty minutes without thoughts of him.”

  Ass. Sometimes he could read me as well as Dillon, which was a little scary. Really, I didn’t need any more guys in my life with the psychic-force connection thing going on. At least Dillon had an excuse. My stepbrother had always been more like a twin, especially with his similar coloring and temperament. I had no choice about his hooks into my brain.

  What about Samsyn?

  Samsyn…was different.

  Beyond different.

  He was the dream. The Pegasus. The dragon on the mountain. The man who’d never be connected to me like that, in spite of my constant pleas to fate for the miracle.

  Impossible.

  Which meant Jag was right. I needed to toss the man out of my mind—every beautiful damn inch of him—and focus on what mattered here: being mentally and physically prepped for Syn’s arrival. Yesterday, his personal envoy from the palace had arrived, having driven three hours from the palace at Sancti, located on the other side of the island. The man had waited to read the missive aloud to Jag, myself, and the eight other guys who trained regularly at the Tahreuse Valley Fight Skills and Fitness Center. Arriving on palace business Friday. ETA 14:00. Be at your best and ready to roll.

  Naturally, curiosities had been piqued.

  Maybe a little more than piqued.

  But the ten of us had dealt with it as we always did: by doubling the intensity of our workouts. I’d gone for triple the effort, not one speck blind about the importance of Syn including me on this. It was why I’d taken up self-defense and fight skills three years ago, and worked my backside off to excel at them all. It was my only avenue to staying close to Syn. If there was any truth that glared loudest about the man, it was his love of fighting—perhaps, at times, even more than “other” physical pursuits. I had no hope of ever sharing something like the latter with him, but I could really do something about the former. Being included in on his important “palace business” meant he’d finally noticed my efforts too.

  That I’d finally, if just for a little while, be important to him.

  But not if I kept fighting like a girl.

  “Let’s do this.” I ignored the hand Jag extended. Chose to grasshopper it back to my feet instead. I jabbed my stare into his. Reset my fists in front of my face. Lifted my chin. Let all thoughts fly free but one.

  You’re going down, Jagger Foxx.

  Jag chuckled, once more reading me like a ten-foot-high banner. “All right, then. Let us ‘do this’.”

  We wove and danced around each other for a couple of minutes. He cuffed my shoulder; I socked his stomach. My fist smarted from colliding with the protective band around his middle; my lungs pumped against the similar device wrapped around me.

  “Bonrika plute.” Jag was a little winded from the blow.

  Tiny mouth curl. “Of course it was very good.” Shoulder roll now, savoring the flush of adrenalin but knowing better than to let it rule. I held position, studying Jag’s stance. During this morning’s practice, he’d taken a good punch on the right from Victyr. How much did it still bother him? He was masking it well. Too well. A weakness to be exploited?

  “This is not the Royal Regatta, princess.”

  “Now you’re just trying to piss me off.”

  I expected his gloating chortle but his angular face stayed solemn. “Too much thinking, Brooke. Evaluate, do not deliberate. Then commit to the move and—”

  “Control my enemy.” I practically snarled it. “I know, I know. I swear to God, you’re like a broken sound chip from one of my old toys.”

  “Because you would treat this like a child’s game?”

  Wow. He really wasn’t just trying to piss me off. He was out to push every button in my book. Three years. For three damn years, I’d worked to earn the respect of him and every other fighter who trained here, honing my skills and my work ethics in order to stand next to them as an equal, not the scared girl who’d first wobbled her way onto Arcadian soil. His dig was as good as offering me a diaper.

  Take this nappy, my friend.

  I lifted my fists and prepared to advance, when something ruthlessly grabbed me from behind. My feet left the ground. Adrenalin jacked my blood. Time-honed instincts took over my muscles. The wall of a bastard wouldn’t budge. He felt like the freaking Terminator, steeled strength clad in thick leather, deployed with frightening precision. I was pinned in, twisted around then dropped to the grass.

  Between one breath and the next, my fury burst into panic.

  In two seconds, six years fell away. Day turned to night. The surface beneath my body changed from polished walnut boards into a sea of crazy confetti: bits of glass and flowers, the remains of the dining room windows, as well as the vase of my birthday flowers from last week. Dad had asked me to change out the water. I’d forgotten. It smelled awful but I clung to its pungency; anything to block the acrid violence of the guns and explosions…

  Mom screamed. Soldiers bellowed. The guy shielding me was one of the loudest.

  We need that chopper now! Those whack jobs aren’t going to stop until this place is dust. Land it in the backyard, man. There’s two fucking acres back there!

  Then he’d yelled down at me. Told me everything was going to be okay, though I far from believed him. Ordered me to stay completely still, faking my own death to our intruders if necessary, as he ran off to find Dillon. The house—the home I’d grown up in—kept crashing in around me. More tumbled in when the helicopter arrived, its thunder throbbing the air. I’d listened with gratitude and grief. The chopper was here to take us to Burlington, where we’d fly to Rome then Arcadia, where we’d been offered asylum by King Ardent. The rest of the world would be told the four of us died in the attack.

  Terror had kept me glued to that floor. Rage had made me long to burst from it. To leap through the rubble and kill every one of those monsters with my bare hands—except their leader, Rune Kavill. For him, I’d invent a special death. Something really painful…

  The anger had never left me.

  Often, it’d been the only friend I possessed.

  Right now, it was my best and dearest buddy.

  Let’s go, pal.

  I drove an elbow into Terminator’s ribs. Again. His grunts were like booster rockets, empowering the buck of my hips. He’d expected that, and easily pinned his knees into the backs of mine. I grinned into the grass. The asshole was either kind or stupid, giving me that gift. With his weight pinned there, it was easy to twist up, ramming my elbow into his jaw instead.

  “Brooke!” Jagger’s shout was unexpected—and urgent. “By the Creator! Do not—”

  A growl from my new opponent stomped him into silence—and gave me the chance I’d been waiting for. The guy’s second of distraction was my scoop of opportunity. I used my elbow on his forearm, tilting his weight enough to dislodge one pinned knee. Next, a swift roll to my back. Instant curl-up on both legs, locking them around his broad shoulders. Brutal squeeze in, pushing my knees to his earlobes.

  “Cry rahmié now, or I’ll snap your head off like a Barbie after Christmas.”

  “For the love of fuck.” Jag’s mutter completely contradicted the humor rumbling from the man in my grip—and the face between
my legs.

  The face, with eyes piercing like winter skies. With that proud, high warrior’s brow. With the gentle smile that dominated so many of my fantasies.

  And now, one catastrophic nightmare.

  “Oh my God.”

  Mortified gasp. Paralyzed shock—not seeming to disturb Samsyn in the least. The bastard chuckled while running his massive hands down—up?—my tense thighs. His mouth kicked a little higher as our gazes met, exposing a rare glimpse of his gleaming teeth. Had I ever seen more of the man’s teeth than that? And why the hell was I thinking of that right now?

  “Well, hello to you too, starlight.”

  The nickname, understood by all as his alone to use, rolled off his generous lips as if we’d seen each other two hours, not two months, ago. I normally delighted in that dynamic between us but right now, it was too close. He was too close. Too big. Too warm. Too much of everything I desired…and would never have.

  Frustration simmered up. Spilled over. With a snarl, I untangled myself. Scrambled backward. That would’ve been fine—a few seconds to find the game face he hadn’t given me time for—if I didn’t glance back up, ensuring I didn’t decapitate him during my escape.

  What the…?

  His teeth weren’t visible anymore. But neither was his mirth—nor even the lights in his eyes.

  He swallowed hard then dragged in a ragged breath. Raked a shaky hand through the top of his thick dark mane. And his other hand…

  Frantically adjusted things in his crotch.

  Sizable things.

  Ohhhh…wow.

  “Brooke? You okay?” Jag, sounding like he spoke through a hundred layers of gauze—that suddenly caught fire. The heat roared through me, drowning my equilibrium, fanned by the force of one unmistakable concept.

  I’d done that to Syn. Instigated that reaction. Made him force a rocky laugh to his lips, trying to cover it up…resealing the rift in his invisible armor. A glimpse into the man behind the wall that I’d never imagined seeing. Well…not outside my dreams.

  Dammit.

  The reality was so much better.

  Dammit.

  I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t even begin to think, or even hope that he saw me any differently than six minutes ago, much less six years. Besides, he was a guy. Their bodies did shit like that, springing up when they weren’t supposed to. And I’d baited the damn dragon, after all. Royally.

  And now, was paying the royal price for it.

  A debt I could, and should, just as easily laugh away.

  But couldn’t.

  Just the preview of Syn…like that…slammed in another recognition. The realization that I’d never have him like that again. Like a beggar brought to the buffet, only to be told I couldn’t have another bite.

  Problem was…I was still starving.

  I had to get out of here. Now.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  I MADE MY way to the old bridge at Temptina Falls. The decision stemmed from habit more than logic, and I immediately regretted it. Syn would look for me here first.

  “Starlight, star bright.”

  Bingo.

  He tried to tease with it. Well, his version of teasing. During my first year here, I didn’t think he comprehended the meaning. It’d only added to his allure, making me fall harder every time I was lucky enough to see him, when he came to our side of the island for climbing vacations or training trips with his troops. Every time, there was something physically different—his muscles got bigger, his hair grew longer—but the steadfast warrior I’d first met was always there, so different from the brash boys I’d known back home. Not that Vermont could ever be home, with Rune Kavill living as a free man. Even if the vermin was existing in some rat-infested cave, Dad wasn’t safe—and neither were Mom, Dillon, or I.

  That was enough of that. The waters of my mind were muddy enough as it was.

  Because of whatever that was.

  That look on his face…

  What the hell was that look on his face?

  I didn’t dare open my mouth, for fear those exact words would come out. Thank God I managed to school my features before he stepped over and leaned against the bridge rail next to me.

  “You’re early.” I shot it as accusation.

  “Despicable habit.”

  “No shit.”

  He arched a brow. “Fitting in with the boys in many ways now, hmm?”

  “Not you, too.” Was Jag sending him reports about my language now? “And when did you decide to be Stuffy McGoo? Isn’t that Evrest’s job?”

  As always, bringing up the man’s brother made him stiffen and glow at once. “Evrest has many roles to fulfill lately.” He swiveled his gaze over the falls. They rose nearly twenty feet up, emptying from the Temptina River, cascading over the boulders on the hill like sparkling stair steps. “Things are changing fast for Arcadia.”

  “And you’re worried about keeping him safe through all of it.”

  He snapped his gaze back. It was on fire again, boring into me in a way he’d never stared before.

  Damn.

  His intensity returned me to the illicit glimpse I’d stolen on the training lawn. That stomach-tingling flash of his hand…right there. Only now he was doing the same thing with his eyes, as if questioning why I’d said that…as if thankful no matter what the reason.

  He shifted closer. Tilted his head, continuing to study me. The wind off the falls tugged a chunk of his hair free from its leather tie. Flattened his black Henley against his sculpted shoulders. “I truly am sorry, astremé.”

  I scowled. “About what?”

  “Frightening you…with the surprise arrival.”

  There it was. The calm, formal tone with which I was comfortable. Only nothing felt comfortable with him anymore. At least what I’d gotten away with as comfortable when he was near.

  “I wasn’t frightened.” Liar. “Just a little stunned.” I shrugged and psshhhed, attempting to lighten—well, whatever was happening here. “And I’m really sorry about nearly Barbie-snapping your head off.”

  He frowned. “‘Barbie-snapping’?”

  “Just another childhood tradition from the exotic land of Vermont.”

  “Hmm. At yule time, you said?”

  “Typically. Though Dillion certainly didn’t let that stop him from tormenting me at other times of the year, if the chance arose.”

  The bold lines of his face quirked, deeply searching mine. He looked truly confused, as if trying to determine if I were serious or not.

  Eventually, the sarcasm in my eyes registered. He exhaled back into a mellower stance. “Curious.”

  That was one way of putting it. Over the years, he’d been fascinated about the life from which I’d come. At first that had shocked me. He was a prince of Arcadia, raised in one of the world’s most stunning palaces. While my life as a senator’s daughter hadn’t been schlubby, it had also contained the same stuff as any normal American kid’s—like a perturbing brother and broken Barbies.

  “What? You never threatened to flush even one of Jayd’s dolls down the toilet?”

  One side of his mouth lifted, only for a second, at the mention of his stunning little sister. “Jayd did not enjoy dolls.”

  My turn to frown. “Not one?” I thought of the youngest Cimarron sibling, resembling a porcelain doll in her own right, and always seeming as serious as one. “Then what did she play with?”

  His turn to shrug. “Us.”

  I smiled. The implication of his statement was clear but I voiced it anyway. “You, Evrest, and Shiraz.”

  “Yes.”

  “Awwww.” I shoulder-bumped him.

  “We bonded.” His features crunched, appearing grumpy. “We had no choice.”

  “Choice or not, she was lucky to have you three. She still is.”

  “I am fairly certain, that at this moment, Jayd would contradict you to the point of violence.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  I studied his profile.
He gazed at the waterfall again, his expression tensing—but not just because of the cryptic remarks about Jayd. Unable to stop myself, I curled a hand around his huge forearm.

  “Syn.”

  The new stab of his gaze clutched my breath for a second. His pupils raced over my face. His thick brows hunched. A hundred thoughts clearly assaulted his brain at once—and for one crazy moment, he showed it all to me. Compelled me closer because of it. Made me yearn to keep going, to pull him down around me, to take away even a fraction of the strange pressure he was under.

  “Syn? What is it?” Besides what seemed like the weight of the world. “Come on. It’s me, big guy. What are friends for?”

  He still didn’t say anything. Pivoted more fully toward me, which faced our bodies fully toward each other. The hand I’d wrapped around his arm slipped against his waist…feeling so natural. He curved a hand to me, in the same place.

  Ohhhh.

  What the hell was happening now?

  And did I even want to waste brain cells contemplating the answer?

  “Starlight.”

  The husk beneath his voice unraveled my senses another fifty feet…making me fall for him all over again.

  As I fell into him.

  That part was his fault too. If he hadn’t raised his other hand to cup the side of my neck, then graze his thumb along my jaw in those soft, slow strokes, my senses would’ve remained balanced. Maybe.

  God, how good he felt this close. How small he made me feel. How many nerves he shook to their ends, so aware of him, so alive for him…

  “Wh-what?” I had no idea how I managed the rasp.

  His gaze grew hooded, descending over my face. “How the hell have you suddenly grown up?”

  I wanted to laugh—but his voice arrested everything in my body. There was a new element in that masculine husk. An ache. No…a need. Like he was in pain.

  Like he was…disappointed?

  I blinked hard, managing to keep the teary sting at bay. “I’m…sorry.”

  Samsyn’s face changed again. It was yet another new expression to me, formed of tense lines and rigid concentration, but not the look he used in the sparring or riding rings. It twisted my stomach…and places lower than that.