‘‘I am Riley McKinley,’’ his companion began, but Jared could hardly hear a word he said, for it was Marco’s name ringing in his ears, deafening him. He turned to one of his soldiers, demanding a pen and paper.
When they delivered the items, he slid the paper before Marco. ‘‘Here, write your names—both of you.’’ But he was only asking for proof. The mysterious letter in his jacket pocket already heralded the truth like a bold shout from the mountaintops.
With his left hand, Marco took hold of the pen, tilting the page slightly as he began to scrawl his name. Even from where Jared stood, he could see that he had difficult, crude handwriting. Not as if he were an unlearned man, but rather that it was something to do with his left-handedness.
When he finished, Marco handed the slip of paper back to Jared, averting his eyes. The Madjin had always believed eye contact with their protected to be a serious transgression; he could easily recall how few times Sabrina had ever met his gaze straight-on. Jared stared down at the page in his hand, and heard Riley ask, ‘‘Mine as well, sir?’’
But he shook his head; with one scrawling sentence, Marco McKinley had identified himself as the author of the letter. And Marco McKinley sat before him now. The question was, did this man serve him as he claimed—or had he come for a much more nefarious and sinister purpose?
‘‘Tell me of Sabrina. What do you know of her fate?’’ Jared asked, pacing around the table with his hands behind his back. Sabrina had been everything to him; her disappearance so close in time to his own parents’ murders had nearly destroyed him as a young man.
‘‘She lives,’’ Marco answered simply.
‘‘She lives?’’ Jared snapped his fingers. ‘‘Just like that. She lives?’’ He felt anger and emotion swell inside of him, making his eyes burn.
‘‘She is our . . . leader. The leader of our unit and the highest member of the Circle.’’
Jared’s eyes slid shut. ‘‘Sabrina is dead.’’ Even as he said it, another part of his heart leaped with a hope that time and warfare had nearly killed: that he might find her once again.
Marco glanced up at him, his dark face serious and unflinching. ‘‘Sabrina lives, my lord. I would never lie to you.’’
Jared whirled toward Marco, slamming his fists onto the table. ‘‘Enough is enough,’’ he raged. ‘‘If you are who you claim to be—if you are indeed connected with my protector, then prove it to me now!’’
Marco sucked in a steady, quiet breath. ‘‘You were in the palace vaults waiting for her; she told you she would return, would come for you—but she couldn’t make it back, the fighting around the palace was too intense. She kept trying, all night long, but was unsuccessful. When mortar rounds were fired into the tower wing, she knew she had no choice but to leave you behind. If she’d tried to make it back to the palace to get you—down in those vaults—she would have led your enemies right to you. And so . . . she left you. She left you, there in the palace catacombs, knowing you thought she was abandoning you. That night was her greatest loss during the war, she told me that. Even worse than losing her own son and husband in battle. She said’’—Marco paused, daring to meet Jared’s gaze with a meaningful look—‘‘that she always thought of you as her own son.’’
Jared slowly turned from Marco, gathering his thoughts. Also at the table, Scott and Thea sat, waiting. They were all waiting. ‘‘She hid me in a secret compartment of the vaults,’’ he admitted solemnly. ‘‘I waited long into the night, while the mortars and cannons kept firing. I stayed under my father’s jeweled throne, curled in a tight ball. Too afraid to move, too afraid to breathe . . . and yet she never came.’’ The memory was fresh as newly fallen snow; tears stung his eyes and he blinked them back.
‘‘But she wanted to, my lord,’’ Marco assured him.
Jared tossed the Madjin a look. ‘‘If she’d wanted to, protector, then she’d have come.’’ Something cold clutched at Jared’s heart. It was easier believing Sabrina dead than that she had never returned to his side.
‘‘You’ll have much to discuss with her,’’ the one named Riley interjected, ‘‘after we have returned to her and explained the situation.’’
‘‘You’re not going anywhere, neither one of you—not until we have time to gather more intel. And not until you offer better proof that you’re Madjin.’’
Thea piped in. ‘‘He recited the vow, sir.’’
‘‘We have more substantial proof than that,’’ Marco said, rising from his seat. The moment he did, every gun in the room whirled in his direction, accompanied by the loud clicks of the safety locks disengaging.
‘‘Stand down!’’ shouted one of the soldiers, the other swooping in on Marco who thrust both hands high in the air.
‘‘I’m unarmed!’’ he shouted back at them. With one cautious hand he lifted his shirt, reminding them that he had surrendered his weaponry to Thea earlier.
Jared indicated that the soldiers should drop their weapons, and Marco bowed before him, pressing one fist over his heart. ‘‘I am your Madjin, my lord. Yours personally as well as the queen’s.’’
So they knew he had married. They knew that, for the first time in many years, the Refarian people did have a queen. ‘‘What is your proof, Marco?’’
‘‘I will have to show it to you.’’
Jared waved for him to continue, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. There was a visual proof of the Madjin warriors, a brand they bore on the inside of their wrists. He had a vivid memory of Sabrina showing him her own mark one day when he was small, letting him know that his own royal seal wasn’t as exotic as he feared. But she’d taken hers willingly—whereas he’d been born with his own wildly gyrating tattoo, marking him from birth as D’Aravni.
Marco dropped to his knees with a soft thud, rolling his shirtsleeve up to the elbow. Jared’s heart rate increased significantly. Bowing his head, Marco lifted his left hand, allowing a bluish silver beam of light to fall on the underside of his other wrist.
‘‘This is my royal brand,’’ he stated softly. ‘‘It’s what identifies me as protector to my king and queen. I am your sworn servant,’’ he continued, his eyes meeting Jared’s with piercing vibrancy. ‘‘This is all that I am. Serving you is all that I know.’’
Then Marco lowered his hand, and the seal disappeared again as the beam of light vanished. Slowly the Madjin lowered his sleeve and rose to his feet.
‘‘I have seen this seal before,’’ Jared told him in a quiet voice. ‘‘I bear a similar mark myself.’’
‘‘Yes, my lord.’’
‘‘Where is Sabrina now? I need to see her . . . must see her.’’
‘‘In Jackson. That’s where we’ve been living.’’
‘‘At first light, you will go for her and bring her here.’’
Marco inclined his head respectfully. ‘‘Yes, sir.’’
‘‘There is another matter to address in the morning,’’ Jared told them. ‘‘We will meet again after breakfast. Thea’’—Jared gestured to her and the MPs—‘‘see both men to their temporary quarters.’’
Marco was about to answer when, behind them, the door opened. Anika appeared, flushed and breathless. ‘‘My lord, I’m only now returning from the base . . .’’ Her words died on her lips as one hand flew to her mouth. She stood beside him, arrested, her gaze riveted on the one called Riley McKinley. Jared turned to her, curious, wondering why the Madjin returned her gaze with such a wild-eyed look.
‘‘What’s going on here?’’ Jared demanded hotly. Anika shook her head, swallowing visibly, but said nothing. Jared persisted: ‘‘Do you know this man, Lieutenant?’’
Anika worked her jaw, her eyes welling with tears, but made no reply. With both hands outstretched she stepped toward him, a cornered expression on her face. Jared ignored her extended hand. ‘‘He’s someone to you,’’ he hissed, walking slowly toward the other side of the room where Riley sat at the table. ‘‘Shall you tell me who he is to you�
�precisely to you—Lieutenant?’’ White-hot fury urged him on. Too many secrets were unraveling tonight. If his blessed Anika was at the center or even on the periphery of this Madjin conspiracy, he would never forgive her.
‘‘My lord, please.’’ She begged him with her large, familiar eyes. Eyes that had always offered friendship and loyalty and kindness. But tonight that friendship had been revealed as nothing more than deception. Jared knew it in his leader’s heart.
She dropped her head, her hands trembling. ‘‘How did they get here?’’ she asked in a shaky voice.
‘‘We met them in town,’’ Thea interjected, shooting Jared a corrective glance, one that told him to take it easy on their friend and fellow soldier. Thea could do that as his cousin, cross the boundaries at moments when he needed her to do so.
He softened his voice. ‘‘I will repeat, Anika Draeus—who is this man to you?’’
‘‘He’s my lifemate,’’ she answered softly. ‘‘Riley McKinley and I were bonded together sixteen years ago. As children. I have only seen him once since that day.’’
Thea gaped at Anika, watching hot tears stream down her friend’s face; Anika couldn’t stop crying, nor could she break eye contact with her lifemate—even as she couldn’t seem to bring herself to look at their king. Jared, for his part, wore an expression of controlled rage. He felt betrayed; it didn’t take an intuitive to figure that much out, not when his usually composed features were contorted into a mask of strained emotion. His almond-shaped eyes had narrowed to slits, the red-gold skin of his face deepening in flushed color.
Thea slipped between Anika and their commander, sliding one arm around the woman’s shoulder. ‘‘I think, perhaps, it would aid in the proceedings if the lieutenant stepped outside,’’ Thea suggested. Then with a quick glance at Jared she added, ‘‘Cousin, you as well.’’
‘‘I have nothing to say to Lieutenant Draeus. Or perhaps I should address her as Madjin now that her military rank means nothing?’’
Thea pulled the much taller woman toward the door, but Anika—in her trademark style of open honesty—stopped before Jared, dropping to her knees. ‘‘You are my king, my lord, my commander. I live for no man but you. To serve you is my highest service.’’
‘‘You are Madjin, are you not?’’ he asked coolly, staring down at the top of her dark head.
She hesitated a moment, then murmured softly, ‘‘Yes, my lord. I am Madjin.’’
‘‘But you never thought to tell me?’’
‘‘I could not,’’ she cried, glancing up at him. ‘‘It was for your own protection.’’
‘‘How many others are in our midst?’’ he asked, sweeping the room with his furious gaze. ‘‘Are there others?’’
Anika spoke in a thick voice: ‘‘Only Anna, my lord.’’ Anika’s twin sister Anna had not been summoned to the meeting chambers.
Jared blew out a weary, heavy breath. ‘‘Rise, Madjin protector,’’ he commanded. ‘‘Now.’’
She nodded, standing before him obediently. For a long moment he assessed her, assuming a commander’s pose as he took in her features, her clothing, her military bearing. Anika seemed to hold her breath during the whole of his inspection, raw pain in her dark eyes.
At last Jared turned from her, shaking his head. ‘‘Dismissed, soldier,’’ he said, and she saluted him sharply—but he did not return the gesture, and Anika’s kind features crumpled as she left the room. Thea glanced back at Riley McKinley and witnessed a similar, stricken expression on his face. It was hard to imagine that they’d been bonded lifemates—able to communicate, share tender intimacies—for all these years without actually being able to touch. And now their first reunion in such a long time was in the presence of their king, a man who believed them his betrayers.
Chapter Six
‘‘You don’t expect me to sleep under armed guard, do you?’’ Marco asked, gesturing toward the two soldiers who had followed them into the small bedroom. ‘‘I’m not capable of walking through walls—clearly even you realize I’m not an Antousian.’’
Thea wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. It was a colder than average night; outside the cabin a heavy snow continued to fall, causing a windchill factor of negative thirteen degrees. But it wasn’t the weather that froze her. It was the simple fact that she believed Marco; she believed every single claim he’d made tonight, which meant his arrival had changed all their destinies. It also meant that the man wasn’t about to run.
She gestured toward both soldiers. ‘‘Step outside, please.’’ With a salute, the MPs obeyed, exiting the room.
‘‘They will be right outside that door. With instructions to shoot first, ask questions later, should you try anything.’’
He glanced at her, a half-cocked, proud grin on his face. ‘‘I won’t try . . . anything,’’ he told her, his nearly black eyes gleaming suggestively.
She immediately blushed, and gave a brisk nod. ‘‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other.’’
‘‘Do we?’’ he asked, stepping near to her. He bent low until he stared into her eyes. ‘‘Tell me—just how well do we understand each other, my lady?’’
She stumbled backward from him, reaching for the door, but he caught her hand in his calloused, much larger one. ‘‘I didn’t give a damn about the armed guards. I’ve slept through much worse,’’ he growled, spinning her to face him. ‘‘I just wanted to be alone with you.’’
Without blinking, he stared directly into her eyes, giving her the sudden sensation of being read by the man. Easily. Not in the way that Scott sometimes soul-gazed her, but as if Marco deeply understood the whole of her nature, right down to the very marrow of her being.
Carefully, she extricated her hand from his grasp, gazing at her boots. ‘‘Well, you’re alone with me now,’’ she whispered, refusing to stare into those seductive, long-lashed eyes of his. ‘‘So tell me, Marco McKinley, what exactly do you want?’’ Every warning system in her body screamed that he was lethally dangerous.
‘‘What do I want?’’ he repeated, laughing. ‘‘What do I want, here in my room, alone with you, Thea Haven? I think you know exactly what I want.’’
‘‘To say to me,’’ she quickly amended, cursing herself for such a stupid choice of phrasing.
‘‘It’s not what I want to say. It’s what I want to do,’’ he said softly, pressing his full mouth against her cheek and breathing in her scent. Among their people, sniffing of someone’s face or neck was a blatant mating gesture, and as he lingered with his lips against her skin, slowly inhaling, he might as well have slipped both palms beneath her uniform shirt and cupped her breasts. She felt electrified, on fire like she had been at the bar when she’d first seen him. It was all she could do to refrain from returning the gesture, taking Marco’s own scent into her lungs and savoring it.
Closing both arms around her, he tugged her flush against him, his groin pressing hard against her body. With a soft growl, he cocked his head sideways, pressing his face against her neck. Thea didn’t dare move; didn’t twitch or flinch. She stood as still as the rigid statues in the palace garden back in Thearnsk, even though her legs felt unsteady beneath her. It was almost like a parade inspection—a very sensual, forbidden one. Around her back, she felt him gather the material of her shirt within his fists; her body tightened in reaction. Still, she made no move.
‘‘I need to know you.’’ He nuzzled in closer, and then suddenly there was the rough, wet feel of his tongue, flicking there at the base of her throat. More tasting of her scent, she thought, the room swimming hazily about her.
At last he exhaled slowly, his breath warm against her cheek. ‘‘Your scent’s like wildflowers touched by sunlight. I could spend all night like this.’’
Coming to her senses, she held both hands out, shoving him away from her. ‘‘Don’t,’’ she snapped. ‘‘Don’t do that. Please.’’
One black eyebrow shot upward. ‘‘You wanted it in the bar,’’ he suggested in a
seductive whisper. ‘‘And you wanted it just now. I know exactly what you wanted tonight.’’
She slapped at his chest with her open palm. ‘‘I did not want it!’’ she cried indignantly, lust morphing into instantaneous and humiliated anger. ‘‘You are so damn sure of yourself!’’
‘‘Not nearly so sure as you think.’’ His black eyebrows drew together, his expression growing troubled. ‘‘Or as I’d like you to believe.’’
‘‘Oh, so we’re being honest now, are we?’’
‘‘I’ve been honest from the first.’’
She shook her head, very aware that her fire had begun to churn again just from these brief moments around Marco. What was it about him that set her ablaze, inciting her Change faster than she could possibly resist? She stumbled past him, toward the door. ‘‘I—I have to go,’’ she managed thickly. ‘‘I will speak with you in a few hours.’’
In a husky voice he called after her, ‘‘Are you certain about this?’’
She glanced back at him over her shoulder, one hand on the doorknob. ‘‘About what?’’
‘‘About leaving me.’’
She pressed her lips into a tight line. ‘‘Why must every phrase out of your mouth be so suggestive?’’
She turned the knob, hearing his steps behind her on the hardwood floor. Suddenly, both of his forearms braced about her, his palms flat against the door. ‘‘You’d better be sure,’’ he cautioned in a whisper, lowering his mouth to her ear once again. ‘‘Because if you leave, Lieutenant, you may never know what I saw in the bar. Or if I saw anything at all. You’ll always wonder if you were the only one.’’
‘‘Good night,’’ she gasped shakily, and opened the door.
The moment Thea entered her quarters, she allowed her Change. Felt the warm, familiar fire engulf her whole body, felt the tendrils of power fan out through her extremities, transforming the whole of her nature. And for the first time since walking into that bar earlier tonight, she could breathe. Her whole body filled with joy and freedom as she embraced her most natural self, a being of pure energy and fire—and one without a corporeal body.
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