Dark Warrior

by Alexis Morgan

  "She shouldn't he out here. It's too exposed," Sandor said.

  He was right. Ranulf continued down the stairs, saying, "Take her inside. I'll relieve you later."

  Then he walked away, wondering if he'd still be welcome when he returned.

  Chapter Seven

  Bradan couldn't wait to watch the tape he'd recorded of his latest fire. This one had been much smaller than the dance club, but it took time to plan one of that magnitude. It still rankled that Kerry Logan had screwed up all those weeks of planning.

  This time his efforts had been satisfyingly successful. The small bookstore was now little more than wet ashes and charred timbers. With all those books, there'd been no lack of raw material for the hungry flames. He'd taped the whole thing from the motel room he'd rented across the street using a false identity.

  He had regrets about a few of the books that had been destroyed, but the owner shouldn't have jacked up the price on the first edition Bradan had been trying to buy. They might have eventually reached a compromise, but it was the principle of the thing. Once you gave ground on one issue, it would be far too easy to do so the next time. He had his standards, and it was up to everyone else to live up to them—or go up in flames.

  He turned on the VCR and settled back with a big bowl of popcorn and a glass of wine. This was better than the movies; the scrambling firemen and billowing black smoke were both real. He could almost feel the heat and smell the pungent scent of burned paper and wood.

  The spectacle put him in a good mood. Once the tape was done, he'd get a couple of hours of sleep and then firm up his plans for the evening. Kerry Logan had to stay home sometime.

  He hadn't decided on punishment yet; he needed to see her again to get a better feel for her. If she was a Kyth, he wouldn't want to take her until she was fully charged. He smiled at the image of living batteries who stole their current from the humans around them.

  Most Kyth were ordinary batteries, but a few could hold a stronger charge, like the Talions—and especially the rarest ones like that Viking barbarian. If Bradan had Ranulf's talents, he would have reveled in his ability to kill. But the fool had foolish notions of honor and a pathetic loyalty to the Dame. What a waste!

  Bradan always performed best when sated with the sweet taste of pain and suffering. With luck, Kerry Logan would serve his needs quite well. The chains were ready and waiting for her. He had a few more surgical instruments to purchase—then it would be time to invite her to their private party.

  Until then, he had a front-row seat to watch the bookstore burn to the ground over and over again. Unfortunately the owner, who lived over the store, had managed to escape. Feeling the money-grubbing bastard die would have been wonderful.

  Braden picked up his wineglass and toasted the spectacle on his plasma television. Life was sweet.

  Ranulf dragged himself inside Judith's front door, hoping that she wouldn't be waiting up for him. Right now, he needed a bed more than he needed to be interrogated over the progress he'd made in tracking down Bradan—or more accurately, his complete lack of it.

  His bones ached with exhaustion, to the point where his control was slipping. It wouldn't take much provocation for his darker side to take over. And the last thing any of them needed to deal with was the wrong side of his temper.

  Josiah was in the dining room setting the table, and looked up when Ranulf staggered into the room. He rushed to Ranulf's side and tried to help him into the nearest chair.

  "Are you ill, sir?"

  Ranulf shook his head, which only made him more dizzy. He tried to string together a coherent answer. "Tired. Hungry. Empty."

  "I'll let Dame Judith know that you've returned and then bring you something to eat."

  "Just the food. Let her sleep." Ranulf slumped back in the chair, wishing like hell he was horizontal, but he'd only feel worse if he didn't take care of his body's needs first.

  "She's been up since Sandor called."

  Ranulf looked up at the elderly retainer, seeing the disapproval there. He didn't know why he felt compelled to defend Sandor, but he did; "The call was necessary."

  The elderly man's face was drawn with worry. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise, sir, but she so rarely sleeps through the night anymore."

  "We all worry about her, Josiah." By Thor's hammer, when had he started worrying about other people's feelings? Wouldn't Sandor howl with laughter over that. "Now, about that breakfast?"

  "Yes, sir, right away."

  Josiah scurried from the room, leaving Ranulf alone in blessed quiet. His head was pounding, and his body ached from head to toe. And despite it all, his wayward dick was still at attention from that near kiss with Kerry. A thousand years ago, he could have just tossed her over his shoulder and carried her off as a prize of war. A cold shower was a piss-poor substitute for the good old days.

  He suddenly noticed that Judith stood next to him, immaculately groomed as always in slacks and a pink sweater.

  "Good morning." He struggled to get up. He managed to sit up straighter, not having the strength to stand in respect.

  "You look like hell." Her comment was laced equally with humor and concern.

  "It's been a long time since I've slept."

  "And fed, I would guess."

  She reached out and her gentle fingers settled over his neck to replenish his store of energy. The sensation held none of the sweet heat he'd experienced with Kerry when they'd been dancing, but the familiar taste of Judith's touch healed the ragged tears in his control.

  He caught her hand in his. "That's enough."

  "I can spare it."

  "No, you can't."

  She stepped away when Josiah carried in a tray and set it down in front of Ranulf.

  "Go ahead and eat," Judith said. "Your report can wait until you're feeling better. Bring me a pot of Earl Grey, Josiah, and then leave us alone for a bit."

  The energy she'd given Ranulf gave him the strength to lift his fork.

  Allowing him time to eat without interruption, Judith thumbed through a magazine. After Josiah came in with her tea, she closed the magazine and set it aside.

  Ranulf pushed his plate away, his stomach full and his energy partly replenished. He still needed some serious sack time. He stretched, definitely feeling better.

  Time to get serious. "There's no question about Kerry Logan being one of us. She has all the symptoms," he began.

  Judith bristled. "I don't ever want to hear that word again. Being Kyth is not a disease."

  "Sorry. Let me rephrase it. Kerry Logan shares numerous characteristics in common with the humanoid species who call themselves the Kyth." He smiled; finding another of their kind was a cause for celebration. "She's definitely one of us, Judith. In fact, she reminds me a lot of you. She's feisty and takes no prisoners, even though a stiff breeze would blow her over."

  "Do you find her attractive?" Judith sipped her tea as she waited for him to answer.

  What the hell difference did it make if Kerry Logan had huge eyes the color of dark chocolate, or if she was the only person besides Judith who dared to tease him?

  He pinched the bridge of his nose as he considered his reply. "She's pretty, but she's also fiercely intelligent and independent. She's giving the two of us a run for our money."

  "How so?"

  "When I refused to let Sandor cut in on the dance floor, she ripped into us good and then left us standing there like fools." He grinned at the memory.

  Judith set her teacup down hard on the table. "You actually danced with her? In all the years I've known you, I've seen you dance maybe a handful of times. And then only when I ordered you to."

  "I told you she reminded me of you." It would be a long time before he forgot how it had felt to hold Kerry in his arms, but he wasn't about to admit that to Judith. It was hard enough to admit it to himself.

  "Well. Interesting as that is, we have other things to discuss. There was another fire last night."

  Son of a bitch. It looke
d like Bradan's love for flames was escalating.

  "Are you sure it was Bradan?"

  "No, but something about the fire feels the same even though the target was a small used bookstore. Bradan used to collect first editions. He was always bragging about the deal he got or cursing when someone outbid him."

  "I'll see if I can talk to one of the investigators or the bookstore owner." Ranulf frowned. "Was anyone hurt?"

  "No, but judging from the newspaper report, that was nothing short of a miracle. The owner, who lives over the store, happened to be up getting a drink of water and smelled the smoke. He called the fire department from his cell as he ran outside. The building was completely destroyed."

  Another life damaged by Bradan's murderous nature. "I'll find him, Judith."

  "I know you will, Ranulf. Between you and Sandor, you'll keep Kerry Logan safe and take care of the renegade." Her shoulders slumped.

  "Bradan is not your fault, Judith. None of us saw this coming."

  "I know, but I have to wonder what else I've missed these past few years. There was a time he wouldn't have been able to hide from me this long."

  Ranulf suspected that was true, but he wouldn't add to her guilt. "I'm going to get some sleep, but I'll be up at four. I want to do some scouting before I relieve Sandor at Kerry's." He paused. "He was going to tell her everything after I left."

  "And that worries you?" As usual, she saw too much. "If she's as intelligent as you say she is, she'll understand the necessity for how you have served me and our people."

  "Right—especially with Sandor explaining things. She can think whatever the hell she wants of me, as long as she jumps when I tell her to. Her life may depend on it." He stood to end the conversation. Worrying about one small brunette's opinion of him did not fit his image of a total badass killer.

  He stayed vertical long enough to strip down and shower, then he crawled into bed, enjoying the feel of Egyptian cotton against his naked skin. Only a few more hours until he would be back with Kerry—but this time she'd know who and what he was. With that cheery thought, he fell asleep.

  Kerry sat down on the coffee table, effectively trapping Sandor on the couch, and crossed her arms across her chest. He'd promised her answers and she wasn't going to let him tap-dance around it. How could she sleep, wondering what he had to say that had made Ranulf look so grim when he left? "All right, Sandor. I want the truth, and nothing but the truth, or God help you."

  Sandor blinked. "Don't you mean 'So help me, God?"

  "No. Talk, or else."

  "Fine. But first I'm going to get something to drink. Talking is dry work."

  She made herself comfortable in her favorite chair. When Sandor came back he downed half a bottle of water, then set it down. "Normally I prefer to have this discussion over some good food and wine. Since you want it straight up, though, I'll give it to you that way."

  "Stop stalling and tell me what's going on!"

  There was a flash of temper in Sandor's eyes. "Fine. Kerry Logan, you're not human."

  Silence hung between them for several seconds, and then Kerry laughed.

  "Damn it, Kerry, hear me out!" Sandor's handsome face was set in rigid lines. Then he let out a slow breath. "Normally I'm the diplomat of our people, but you're not making this easy for either of us."

  Kerry rolled her eyes. What was his game? "Okay, so I'm not human. What planet am I from?"

  Sandor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared into her eyes.

  "You're a Kyth, spelled K-y-t-h, just like me and like Ranulf. Our people originated in northern Europe, especially Scandinavia. Due to a genetic mutation, we developed the ability to absorb energy from other humans. It meant we could survive without food if necessary, but now we need that energy, as well as food, to thrive. Humans give that energy off all the time, but especially in crowds. A very few of us can also share energy with one another, like our Grand Dame and the warrior class we call the Talions."

  "Oh, brother." She crossed her arms over her chest.

  "Give me a fair hearing, and then tell me how much of what I say rings a bell. If none of it does, then we're wrong about you being one of us and I'll apologize. But either way, Ranulf and I will protect you until the arsonist is brought down. Deal?"

  What choice did she have? The cops hadn't been exactly knocking on her door offering to keep her safe. "Fine, give it your best shot."

  "When you were growing up, you had a reputation for being brilliant but not a team player. You had a hard time sitting still for long, yet you managed to ace your classes without much effort."

  "So maybe I was ADHD. It's common enough."

  "Yeah, but the first time they tried meds for it, you got sick enough to require immediate medical intervention." There was a note of sympathy in his voice by now.

  So he'd hacked into her medical files. Big deal. Lots of people had drug reactions.

  "Other than that, you've never been sick a day in your life. No colds, no flu, no fever, not even the usual childhood maladies."

  He was freaking her out here. "Okay, so how would you know that?" The allergic reaction would have been documented, but doctors didn't keep records of people too healthy to need medical care.

  He ignored the question. "You prefer to work alone and find it hard to put up with most people crowding your space. On the other hand, you feel a compulsion to spend time at places like dance clubs or sporting events." He looked past her to where she had a collection of bobblehead dolls wearing her beloved Seattle Mariners uniforms.

  Another good guess. Anyone who followed sports would recognize the home game giveaways.

  "And the only time you feel completely relaxed is after you spend hours on a crowded dance floor or you've been surrounded by a bunch of rabid sports fans." He sat back.

  Some of his guesses were just common sense, but the rest hit too close to home for comfort. Who had been following her around, watching her live out her life?

  "When you're around me or Ranulf, though, it's different. The edginess is missing."

  He was right. Normally, having someone in her home this long would have had her climbing the walls or shoving them out the door. Instead, she'd covered Sandor up with an afghan, content to let him sleep on her couch. And she'd been reluctant to see Ranulf walk away, despite his promise to return.

  Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Sandor asked, "Didn't you wonder how you knew he was outside?"

  He didn't have to say who "he" was, because the answer was obvious. "That was the second time he watched my apartment, wasn't it?"

  Sandor's mouth dropped open in shock. "Yes, but you couldn't have known he was there the first time."

  "Why not? Maybe I have spidy senses that detect tall redheads at a hundred paces."

  Sandor didn't take it as a joke. He got right up in her face. "Listen to me carefully. If you don't believe anything else I tell you, believe this: Ranulf is dangerous."

  Like she couldn't see that for herself! The man had some kind of military commando training. In fact, she'd bet both men did.

  "If he's dangerous, so are you. I'd bet you're both part of that warrior class you mentioned. Think I didn't notice how much the two of you have in common? Computer geeks don't usually have all those muscles or constantly scan their surroundings looking for danger. Besides, Ranulf would never hurt me."

  Sandor's eyebrows snapped down in a frown. "He might not mean to, but he's not to be trusted. Not completely, anyway."

  She saw red. "Are you still sulking because he wouldn't let you cut in on the dance floor? Because if that's what all of this is about, I don't want to hear another word!" She started to get up, but Sandor blocked her.

  "Look, Kerry, you have to understand that Ranulf is a killer—even' bit as dangerous as Bradan Owen, the bastard who set the fire."

  From the look in his eyes, Sandor obviously believed every word he said, enough that he was bruising her arm to force her to listen. She jerked h
er arm free, surprising both of them by how easily she did so.

  "You know the killer by name?"

  Sandor reluctantly nodded. "He's one of us, too, but he's gone renegade. That's what we call a Kyth who's developed an addiction for the darker energy from human pain and death."

  Fury burned straight through her. "If you know who he is, why haven't you called the police or the fire department with that information?"

  "Because Bradan would eat them alive. The only one who stands a chance against him is Ranulf— and that's only because he's only a fraction of an inch away from being just like him."

  Kerry snapped, "That's it! Don't say another thing, Sandor, especially about Ranulf. I'm seriously weirded out by everything you've said, and I'm going to bed. Deal with it." She stood up.

  Sandor's temper snapped. "If you think the arsonist is scary, why do you think Ranulf is the one who has been ordered to take him out? That Viking bastard isn't even close to civilized. He's a weapon that our Dame only drags out to do jobs that none of the rest of us can stomach. He strips renegades of all their darkness. You cannot imagine how many he has killed in his lifetime."

  She didn't want to hear it. She wouldn't believe it. The picture he'd painted of Ranulf simply didn't jive with the man who'd held her so close in his arms and kissed her so sweetly. But right now, none of it mattered. If she didn't crawl into bed in the next five minutes, she was going to explode.

  "Good night, Sandor. Crash on the couch if you want to, but don't say another word to me right now."

  Then she walked away, leaving one very angry man—or whatever he was—staring at her back.

  Stubborn woman, why wouldn't she listen to reason?

  Despite his best efforts, she wasn't buying what he was selling, not by a long shot. It didn't help to have the Viking looking over his shoulder. If Ranulf had stayed in the background as planned, Sandor wouldn't have had to compete with the bastard for Kerry's trust.