Warrior's Revenge

by Coreene Callahan

  In order to reach the man beyond.

  Turning toward him, she stifled a sigh. He’d widened the gap and now stood several feet from her. Not knowing how best to help him, Aurora did the only thing she could. She followed his retreat. Laying her palms flat on the wall of his chest, she pressed her hands over his heart. His heartbeat raged beneath her touch. Aurora held his gaze, hoping her closeness soothed him enough for her to breach the territory he defended. As he allowed it, she grew bolder, shifting until she stood a hair’s breadth from him. Aligning her body with his, she invited him without words to close the distance between them.

  Sweeping her hands over his shoulders, she gazed up at him. “Brigham, I really am all right, you know.”

  He shook his head. “You are hurt. I saw the cuts and bruises.”

  “I am strong, and I will heal.”

  “Little heart, you need to rest,” Brigham said, his voice unsteady. Expression tight, his gaze strayed to the bruise on her cheek. “You have been through an ordeal.”

  “No more so than you.”

  “Bloody hell, Aurora. I was not the one strung up. My God, he…when I saw what he had done…when I saw you…bloody everlasting hell!” With a snarl, he paced away from her. Dark eyes narrowed, he pinned her with his gaze. “And I couldn’t get there. He hit you, and I couldn’t…my men weren’t in position and…Christ, I couldn’t get there to stop him…to protect you!”

  “Nay, Brigham, you arrived in time.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she saw him quake, the emotion riding him so powerful he was coming apart at the seams. Hating to see him struggle, wanting to reassure him, she took a step toward him. “I am safe and whole because of you. You were there—”

  “Not soon enough—goddamn it…not soon enough.” Resonating with torment and fury, his voice echoed through the chamber. Tunneling his fingers through his hair, he lost control, unraveling before her eyes. As his hands shook and his body trembled, he met her gaze, his eyes so dark a brown they appeared black in the firelight. “And all I could think was that you didn’t know…that I was going to lose you and hadn’t found the courage to tell you.”

  Blinking away her tears, Aurora moved in tight and cupped his face in her hands. “You were never in danger of losing me.”

  “I was. I know I was and…I am not sure I will ever recover. Aurora, I need to tell you. You need to know that I…”

  “I know, Brigham.”

  “Nay, you don’t.” Eyes bright, he curled his arm around her. Reaching up with his free hand, he tucked an errant lock of her hair behind her ear. He swallowed hard as he brushed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “I love you, Aurora. I adore you to the point of madness. I could not live with myself were you…I need you too much.”

  A tear fell over her bottom lashes. Using all her strength, she hugged him tight. “Oh, Brigham, I love you too.”

  His mouth curved against the top of her head. “I’m aware of that. God knows you’ve told me often enough.”

  Aurora leaned back to scowl at him. “Aye, well, I was under the impression you needed to hear it.”

  “Mayhap I did.” Eyes crinkling at the corners, he smiled at her.

  She rolled her eyes and, returning his grin, squirmed out of his embrace. Taking hold of his hand, Aurora tugged, drawing him away from the hearth. “Good. Now that that’s settled, we can go to bed.”

  He frowned and resisted the pull, denying her. “Nay.”

  “Nay?” Aurora blinked. Shock rippled deep. Good grief. Of all the times for him to be reasonable. Or rather, unreasonable. “What do you mean, nay?”

  His eyes darkened with desire even as he shook his head. “We cannot, loving. I’ve no wish to hurt you and—”

  “Nonsense. Of course, we can.” Aurora squeezed his hand, her love for him overflowing as she realized his problem.

  He shook his head again.

  She licked her bottom lip, then caught it between her teeth. Tugging his hand, she employed the one tactic guaranteed to sway him. “Please, Brigham. I need you.”

  The husky timbre of her voice made him groan. She tugged again. He followed, allowing her to pull him across the chamber. “Nay, Aurora. You are bruised and far too tender to take me.”

  “You’ll be gentle.” She slipped the knot on her chamber robe free. Shrugging her shoulders, she let it fall to the floor.

  Sucking in a quick breath, Brigham relented. “I’ll be gentle.”

  “Thought so.”

  With a hum, she accepted his kiss. He chuckled at her look of triumph and lowered her to the counterpane. Following her down, he buried his hands in her hair and, deep voice rumbling told her, “Aurora, my beauty, I love you.”

  “Forever, Brigham?”

  “Aye, vixen…forever and every day after.”

  Delighted with her brute, she met him caress for caress, surrendering as he wrapped her in the warmth of his embrace. Such a wonder to behold…his love for her. ’Twas a true gift. One beyond compare. One she hadn’t expected. One Aurora knew she would never take for granted.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I love this book. I have from the moment I began to write it. But not for the reasons you might suppose. I love Warrior’s Revenge because in the writing of it, I discovered my true purpose and passion…storytelling. I had no idea when I sat down at my computer (a first time mom at home with an infant daughter and a desk comprised of a plywood top and filing cabinets for legs) that telling Brigham and Aurora’s story would lead me here, into the incredible world of publishing. So I guess, in the end, I have my muse to thank along with the amazing people who helped make it happen.

  Many thanks to my literary agent, Christine Witthohn. Words will never be enough to express the depth of my gratitude.

  A huge thanks to my editor, the incomparable Kelli Martin. Thank you for taking a chance on this book and bringing it into the light of day. It’s the first for us, and hopefully, the beginning of many more to come. Thanks so much for all your hard work and support. I couldn’t do it without you!

  To the entire Amazon Publishing team whose talents, energy, and enthusiasm are beyond compare. You never cease to amaze me. It’s such a pleasure working with all of you!

  To the ones I love. Thank you for putting up with me and my distraction when I’m deep in Storyland. And for shoring me up and plying me with copious amounts of wine when I need it! You’re the best…each and every one of you.

  Last but never least, to Kallie Lane, fellow writer, critique partner, and friend. You make me better. You always have. Thank you!

  I raise a glass to all of you!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photograph by Julie Daniluck

  As the only girl on all-guys hockey teams from age six through her college years, Coreene Callahan knows a thing or two about tough guys and loves to write about them. Call it kismet. Call it payback after years of locker room talk and ice rink antics. But whatever you call it, the action better be heart stopping, the magic electric, and the story wicked-good fun.

  After graduating with honors in psychology and working as an interior designer, she finally succumbed to her overactive imagination and returned to her first love: writing. And when she’s not writing, she is dreaming of magical worlds full of dragon-shifters, elite assassins, and romance that’s too hot to handle. Callahan currently lives in Canada with her family and writing buddy, a fun-loving golden retriever.

  This book was originally released in episodes as a Kindle Serial. Kindle Serials launched in 2012 as a new way to experience serialized books. Kindle Serials allow readers to enjoy the story as the author creates it, purchasing once and receiving all existing episodes immediately, followed by future episodes as they are published. To find out more about Kindle Serials and to see the current selection of Serials titles, visit www.amazon.com/kindleserials.

  SNEAK PEEK AT COREENE SMITH’S MEDIEVAL ROMANCE KNIGHT AVENGED

  Coming in 2014

  TRANSYLVANIA - DECEMBER 1331 A.D.


  The chill of midnight descended like a wraith, leaving Henrik Lazar alone amid deep shadows and the swell of silence. Stripped of foliage, tree limbs creaked above his head as fog curled, creeping between the oak’s gnarled feet to reach his own. Just as well. The phantom called night suited him. He belonged in the darkness. And the blacker the abyss, the better he liked it.

  Especially for tonight’s mission.

  He hadn’t asked for the task. Still didn’t want it. But when Xavian—his friend and brother in arms—insisted, he’d caved. Which explained a lot, didn’t it? The hours spent on horseback, riding toward the last place in Transylvania he wanted to revisit. It explained something else too. The dread. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the sharp coil of unease. The disquiet slithered through him like a venomous snake, tightening muscle over bone until his instincts hissed, warning him to turn and walk away.

  The reaction was an unfamiliar one. All the more unwelcome for the fact he was a seasoned assassin at the height of his game. But a mission was a mission. No turning away. No going back. No room for failure. And naught about seeing his duty done had ever shaken him…

  Until now.

  The fortress he stood inside wasn’t his friend. It hadn’t been then, and it sure as hell wasn’t now. Abandoned yet still intact, the walled town was a beast full of bitter memories.

  Henrik shook his head. So many years. So much hurt, and yet the stronghold he’d once called home hadn’t changed. Thick curtain walls still soared toward pinpoint stars, standing strong to protect the sanctuary at its center. White Temple. He could see the curved dome from his position overlooking the village square.

  Leaping onto the half wall beside the old oak, he got low, crouching to avoid detection. Balanced on the balls of his feet, he stared at the source of his boyhood misery. Less than a league away, surrounded by a cluster of white cottages, the temple shone beneath fickle moon-glow, waiting patiently for order to return and chaos to fade.

  God forsaken place. The pit of Hell would’ve been easier to bear.

  At least for him.

  Some might ask—feeling as he did about the temple—why he’d agreed to the mission. Hell, he was still wondering himself. But despising the Goddess of All Things and her place of worship didn’t change his purpose. In the end, it came down to one thing: brotherhood…loyalty and the common bond he shared with the others was more important than holding a grudge against a goddess who didn’t give a damn about him. Aye, that, and the fact he loved to fight. And aligning himself with the goddess? Well now, that was a battle in the making. One scribes would write about for years if the latest information proved true.

  Which was why he was here. To confirm his former sensei’s—and Al Pacii’s—involvement before carrying the news back to Drachaven, the stronghold he now shared with his brothers in arms.

  Searching the top of the curtain wall opposite him, Henrik rechecked his weapons. Leather creaked as he adjusted the harness that held the twin swords he favored in place against his back. All good. The curved blades were ready to be used, just like him. With quick hands, he palmed his daggers, making sure each of the five slid from their scabbards with ease. His mouth curved as steel hummed against his jerkin, the sound reminding him of who and what he was as he sheathed the last blade.

  After adjusting his bow and quiver of arrows, he turned and jumped from his perch. Grass frozen by winter’s chill crackled beneath his boots as he scanned the garden beyond the great oak. Nothing yet. But his comrades would arrive soon. They’d taken different directions to cover more ground after breaching the postern gate. Like him, his brothers were efficient hunter killers, and after an hour spent searching the city from different vantage points, Henrik knew they’d be— A whisper of sound ghosted from his left.

  Sensation pricking along his spine, Henrik gathered the gloom, disappearing behind a veil of darkness. The cloak of invisibility was new for him; a skill he hadn’t possessed until a month ago when the goddess had visited him while he slept. Now magic hummed in his veins: enlivening his body, sharpening his mind, making him a more lethal fighter. And while he enjoyed the added edge of aggression, he abhorred the ability to vanish into thin-air—and the magic that drove it.

  The goddess didn’t understand his aversion. Didn’t agree with it either. All she saw was his heritage, the long line of sorcerers in his bloodline. But Henrik didn’t give a damn about ancient history. He needed the sorcery to stay where it belonged, in the maternal line of his family, in his younger sister’s veins and out of his. Too bad the Goddess of All Things didn’t care what he wanted. Christ, she no doubt relished his uncertainty…enjoying the irony as she made him into something he couldn’t abide.

  Goddamn Her and…curse him for remembering. For reliving the pain of betrayal. and the goddess’s refusal to intervene and protect him from his own mother. For wishing for something different for the boy he’d been and man he had become. But making peace with his past wasn’t part of the deal. Not for him. Too much had happened for him to forgive, and if given half a chance, he’d burn White Temple to ground. Raze the goddess’s abbey until the people’s holy place was reduced to naught but rubble and ash.

  “H?” The soft call drifted, swirling on frigid wind.

  Henrik sighed. Goddamn Shay. The young assassin might be whipcord smart, but he had a lot to learn. First lesson among many? Never comprise a comrade’s position by calling out his name. Unless, of course, you wanted to get your arse kicked by said warrior.

  That lecture, however, would have to wait.

  Separating himself from the gloom, Henrik materialized behind his apprentice.

  “Jesu!” Shay swung around, settling into a fighting stance. His eyes flared with surprise, then narrowed as he debated whether to let his fists fly. Henrik hoped he chose to fight. Being inside White Temple made him ache to hit something, and Shay was an excellent target.