His Darkest Embrace

by Juliana Stone

  “He’s fine,” Julian answered finally. “All of them are just fucking peachy.”

  “Thank God,” Jagger muttered, ignoring his brother’s sarcasm. “What about the baby?” he asked, slowly straightening.

  “The child, Logan, was found and is safe with Jaxon and Libby.” Julian shook his head. “Why are you out here?” he asked once more. “Why did you do everything in your power to avoid us?”

  Jagger was silent for a few moments before answering honestly. “I had shit going on that you’d never understand.” Jagger rotated his neck in a full circle, trying to alleviate the tension that had wrapped around him like a band.

  “Why? Because I’m not like you? Because I’m not a warrior?” Julian threw the words at Jagger furiously.

  “Because you’ve never been to war,” Jagger cut in bitterly. “Because you’ve never been to Iraq or Afghanistan or any of those hellholes I was sent to.” He exhaled harshly, the sound of his breaths rough, uneven.

  He could feel his canines erupting as the beast inside of him howled at the remembered pain and his voice became hoarse. “Because you’ve never watched people in your care being blown to bits, their bodies broken apart and spread over the desert like some sick buffet. Innocent civilians murdered for no reason …” His voice trailed off.

  Jagger closed his eyes as the face that had haunted him for almost a full year rose up to taunt him. Again. Long crimson hair, eyes as green as the foliage at his feet, lips curved into a smile. Eden had trusted him and he’d failed.

  She’d barely been old enough to vote.

  He felt his heart harden as he pushed the emotion away. It was the only way to cope. “It’s a hell of a lot different than sitting around a boardroom table making a deal. So don’t get your ass all bent out of shape. It’s nothing personal. You just have no fucking clue.”

  And that was the truth. Laid bare. Jagger had been haunted nightly, ever since he’d returned from overseas. War at any given time was horrible, but over the last twenty years the otherworld element had taken hold, and the tragedies and atrocities that had occurred every day in these countries tripled.

  To some of these fringe otherworlders, humans were nothing more than chess pieces to be moved about. They didn’t care how many of them died.

  And what for? Power.

  He was sick of it, and as soon as he could, he’d left and never looked back. Out here in the jungle he’d not once thought about the past or his human life. Of the mistakes that had cost him dearly. The men in his unit who’d died and sweet Eden who’d loved him though the feelings weren’t returned.

  He should have left her alone. Should have been stronger, maybe then she’d have made it out alive.

  Wearily he rubbed his neck, feeling the energy drain from his limbs in one big swoop, as the effects of an all-nighter out in the jungle on top of a full day trekking through the thick underbrush began to take hold.

  He really didn’t want to get into it with Julian. Not now. When he was weak he couldn’t control the cat inside of him. And that made him dangerous. Christ, he’d never forgive himself if he hurt his brother.

  “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

  The sandpaper-rough voice drifted into the silence between them and Jagger turned to his right, a smile breaking across the tight features of his face.

  Cracker! The craggy face looked a little worn, a few more wrinkles, a few more lines of worry on his forehead.

  Not sure of his welcome considering his own flesh and blood had wanted to rip his head off, Jagger hesitated.

  Cracker spit to the side, his light-colored eyes shifting up and down until they made contact with Jagger’s.

  “I never really took you for a fan of The Jungle Book and can’t say as the whole Mowgli thing is working, but damn, I can’t lie. It’s good to see you.” Cracker chuckled then, his gaze swinging to Julian. “Although I’d prefer to see a little less of you boys.”

  Jagger laughed heartily and crossed over to his old friend. Cracker was a man of mystery, a former soldier who worked for his brother Jaxon. No one really knew much about him, other than the fact that he was loyal to the end.

  And he wasn’t quite human. Jagger had never been able to figure out just what was floating around in his DNA, and Cracker had never volunteered it.

  “Yeah, well, sorry for the peep show but my clothes are back there.” Jagger pointed behind him, unabashed and totally comfortable with his nakedness. He glanced at Julian. “Him, I have no clue.”

  “Yeah, well, I have his clothes.” Cracker threw a small duffel bag toward Julian. “He’s always stripping down and running off.” He snorted and his eyes narrowed. “Seems to run in the family, more so for some of you.”

  The small rebuke didn’t go unnoticed but Jagger remained silent as his brother quickly pulled on some clothes and slipped his feet into a sturdy pair of boots. Jagger couldn’t help but stare. His brother looked more like a soldier than most of his crew from Iraq.

  What had happened in the few months he’d been away?

  He asked that very question and got more than a little spooked at the look between his brother and Cracker. The silence that fell between them did little to dispel his nervousness.

  “All right, you guys are starting to freak me out. What the hell is going on?”

  Cracker was the first one to answer, and the severity of the situation rolled over Jagger as the tone of his words set him on edge. “We’re not sure, exactly. The DaCostas are on the hunt, for what we don’t know, but you can bet your ass it ain’t anything good. They’re forming alliances with shifter clans from all over and it’s on a scale that’s unprecedented.”

  Julian cut in, his face dark. “They’ve also hooked up with Cormac O’Hara, the bastard that had Libby’s baby.”

  Jagger felt something inside of him shift at the mention of that name. Was it the same Cormac that Skye was after?

  “O’Hara?” Jagger asked stiffly, not liking where this was headed. “Any relation to Declan?”

  “The bastard is his father,” Cracker answered roughly.

  “What? But I thought his father was a nonissue, as in long gone and dead.”

  “After the banishment from his coven, he was presumed dead,” Cracker continued, “but he’s obviously very much alive and up to no good.”

  Jagger let the words sink in and his thoughts turned to Skye. What the hell was her connection to O’Hara?

  He needed to get to her, and fast—before his brother did. There was no telling what the jaguar would do if he thought Skye was somehow involved in that whole mess.

  He could feel Julian staring him down, and his brother’s aggression was falling off him in waves. It called to the animal inside Jagger, and he could feel his control slipping again as thoughts of Skye in danger filled his mind.

  He forced himself into a somewhat calm state and turned to Cracker. “You should know that there is a large contingent of warriors about a day’s hike south of here. I took three out last night and laid down a shitload of false trails to confuse the rest, but I’m sure it will only slow them down for a day or so.”

  “Good to know,” Cracker said softly. “So … you have somewhere you need to be, or can we count on your help?”

  Jagger’s hands fisted before he loosened and stretched out his tight fingers. He hesitated.

  What the hell was he going to do? His gut told him that Skye was involved. He just didn’t know if she was up to her neck in it, or over her head. Was she the enemy? Or was she in need of his help?

  His insides began to tremble with the urge to get to her. The thought of her alone in the jungle touched off a protective instinct in him that he’d not experienced before, and he was beginning to think it was more than just fleeting.

  Skye was one hell of an amazing woman.

  Nervous energy rolled over his skin. “Why don’t I hook up with you boys tomorrow morning? I’ve got to take care of something first.”

  Decision made,
Jagger turned to leave, but stopped abruptly as his senses came alive, like a layer of film had just been pulled away. A rustling off to the right drew all of their attention and he felt his animal begin to make noise as a tall man appeared, his lean, muscled frame sliding into the clearing like he’d been pulled from the air.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Jagger felt his animal explode so swiftly he nearly doubled over as he fought the change that threatened again. Declan O’Hara sauntered into the clearing, his arm gripped tight around none other than Skye.

  He’d had the decency to give her his shirt, but it was the sight of his hands on her soft flesh that tore at him, and Jagger growled low, deep from his gut. He ignored the quick look that Cracker threw at him. Ignored the way Julian grew quiet.

  At the moment all of his senses were focused on Declan and the blonde that stood at his side, chest heaving.

  Skye’s curves were barely covered and the thought of Declan, of anyone, looking upon her, or touching her, filled him with such anger that he began to tremble.

  “Would this be what needs taking care of?” Declan asked, his voice deceptively light. He pushed Skye forward and she barely avoided falling.

  Jagger leapt toward them and caught her in his arms, hissing a warning, his face blackened in anger.

  “So,” Declan continued his tone conversational, his manner anything but. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been MIA for the past three months, playing Tarzan and Jane with Cormac’s whore?”

  “I’m not … you don’t know what you’re talking about!” Skye shouted.

  “No?” Declan said softly, his white teeth slashing through the gloom as he continued to smile at her. “Wanna explain to us all how you’ve miraculously come back from the dead?” He sneered and stepped away, totally disgusted.

  Silence stretched long and hard. “Cat got your tongue, Skye? Doesn’t matter. I have my own theory.” Declan’s voice dropped. “I think you and Cormac are working together. I think you wanted us to believe you were dead and that you in fact helped the bastard escape.”

  Jagger stilled at Declan’s words. He felt Skye tense beneath his hands and he turned her around roughly. Her eyes were huge in her pale face, the blue so dark it almost appeared black.

  She kept them aimed straight at his chest, totally avoiding contact with his. Her action spoke volumes, and what it shouted to him was guilt.

  The anger he felt earlier multiplied tenfold and he bared his teeth, his breaths coming hot and fast.

  He sure as hell didn’t know what was going on, but one thing was clear: Skye Knightly was playing him, and like an idiot he’d walked right into her trap.

  Jagger’s fingers bit into her soft flesh, his grip hard, and God help him but he enjoyed the small whimper of pain that escaped her lips. He ignored Skye and turned his attention to the men who stood staring at him expectantly.

  There was no way he was turning her over to them.

  He bent down and whispered into her ear, feeling a keen sense of satisfaction as she shivered at his words. “Seems as if my little bird has been leading me on a wild goose chase.” He ran his finger down her clammy cheek, holding her steady when she would have moved away. “No matter. It ends tonight.”

  He was done playing games. It was time to find out exactly what the hell was going on.

  Chapter 8

  Skye pushed down the fear that pretty much clogged every single vein in her body. She was shivering, but in no way was she cold. In fact her body felt overheated, her limbs heavy and weak.

  She could almost taste the anger that Jagger felt. It was potent enough to tie her belly up in knots for weeks. Months even. It was as if winter’s kiss had blown down from the north and stolen the heat that had been there less than an hour before.

  Her bizarre world had just shrunk a little more, and she was trapped.

  How many obstacles were there in her immediate future? What hoops was she gonna have to jump through next?

  God, she just wanted to close her eyes and wish everything away.

  Her body was physically tapped out and her mind was pretty much toast. Not a good way to be when you were surrounded by a bunch of pissed-off shifters and the magick dude from hell.

  Skye kept her eyes averted, her thoughts swirling furiously because, honestly, she had no clue what her next move should be.

  She should never have turned back.

  After the other jaguar had jumped into the water, she’d fled, running as fast as she could, using the last fumes of adrenaline that she had left. She’d been well on her way, too, but the unholy sounds of two large animals fighting filled the still jungle air, and she’d stopped dead in her tracks and turned around.

  What if Jagger was hurt? She couldn’t leave him out there alone. He was her only link to the satchel.

  It was the only reason she turned back.

  At least that’s what she’d told herself.

  Slowly she’d crept back and was almost to the water, when the hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end and she’d known that she was no longer alone. The air was thick with a darkness that’d sucked the heat out of the humid jungle. It felt empty, sinister. The terror that rose up inside of her was nearly debilitating.

  It felt like old magick, black magick.

  Dark arts!

  Blindly, like a child caught in the middle of a nightmare, she turned, not knowing where to go, only knowing that she was in danger. She’d taken off running, ignoring the pain that clutched at her midsection, ignoring the low-lying branches that scraped at her nakedness. All coherent thoughts fled.

  Then he was there. Right in front of her.

  Skye’s world spun out of control as she dug in her feet in order to avoid colliding with him. But it was too late. He had her.

  She’d recognized him immediately. He’d been the one to pull her from the rubble of the DaCosta compound only three months earlier. The one they’d called Declan.

  He’d changed in the last three months. There was a new layer to his skin, one that clung to his body like a second glove. It slithered in the air around him, mixing with his magick until the energy literally hummed.

  He was incredibly strong.

  It was familiar, his signature, but she couldn’t connect the dots and felt a moment of frustration, thinking she was missing something important. It was no matter. The man was dangerous and she was in his direct line of fire.

  Skye had tried to struggle but it was no use. There were no words spoken, only a look of dismissal as he’d slowly pulled the shirt from his powerful frame and handed it to her as if her nakedness made him ill.

  “Cover yourself.” And then he’d pretty much dragged her back the rest of the way, his eyes accusing and full of malice. When they’d come upon Jagger and two other men she recognized from before, her heart sank.

  It suddenly became apparent to her that Jagger was tied to them and what had gone down three months earlier at Caracol. And now, as he held her tightly, painfully, within his grip, she refused to meet his gaze. Afraid of what she’d see.

  Skye’s thoughts continued to whirl into a tornado of panic. When had her life taken such a header directly into the shithouse?

  She could feel tears once more stinging the corners of her eyes as she thought of her father, dead, and Finn most likely the same. Of the countless others that had given their lives in order to protect the portal.

  Fucking magicks and shifters, she thought. None of them could be trusted. Not even the towering jaguar that stood before her.

  Skye welcomed the anger that suddenly erupted from within as her eyes slowly met Jagger’s, and she fed on it, closing off her mind and her emotions.

  They would not win. She would find a way out of this situation. She would find the portal. Alone.

  And she would seal it.

  Only then would she be able to rest. And God knows, she was so very tired.

  “Is it true?” Jagger asked harshly, his fingernails clawing at her flesh.


  Skye ignored the pain, doing her best to keep her face neutral. There was no way she’d let them see how upset and rattled she was.

  She remained quiet, her gaze never meeting his, not even when he began to shake her so hard that she began to see stars. What was the point? It’s not like he’d believe her anyway.

  “Stop it!” the older gentleman ordered gruffly. “We need her brain in working order, because she sure as hell owes us some answers.”

  Jagger let her go and this time she did lose her balance, unable to stop herself from falling to the ground. The tender skin on her knees took the brunt and she bit down on a groan as her aching body protested. Her head was pounding and she began to see white spots floating in the air.

  She was so very hungry and thirsty.

  A wave of dizziness caught her off guard and she sucked in a deep breath, fighting the nausea that accompanied it. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, aware of the rumble of male voices. They rose and then fell. There were angry words, orders barked, but she paid no mind.

  Skye needed to concentrate, to conserve that little spark of energy that was left inside her. It was the only thing that was going to carry her forward. She clung to it and when her arm was yanked nearly out of the socket as she was pulled up to her feet, she uttered not a sound.

  She did not bow in defeat or weakness. She was an eagle knight and would hold her head high.

  Skye met the eyes of the magick man, Declan, with a defiance that earned a ghost of a smile, one that didn’t go anywhere near his eyes. She’d heard the whispers. He was Cormac’s son.

  He grinned down at her. “I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you. Honestly, I’d love to get a crack at getting inside that head of yours.” Declan leaned closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. Skye had to strain in order to hear his words. “Magick does have a way of pulling thoughts and memories out, but methinks that in this case Jagger here will be much more effective.” He winked at her then. “Or at the very least, he’ll have way more fun.”