His Chosen Bride

by Marcia Evanick

  She would have preferred that he at least turn around and face her when talking to her, but if he chose the darkness of the night, so be it. “My parents.”

  “The Council paid for mine. My mother couldn’t afford to send me across town, let alone through law school. My father died when I was twelve.”

  She knew all about Mason’s father. There wasn’t a member of the society who didn’t. Mason’s father was one of the rare warlocks who had been shunned by the society, not only because he broke the ban concerning alcohol, but because he deserted his wife and three children. Gillian didn’t know how the Council stripped Mason’s father of his powers, only that they had. Clint Blacksword had died a vagrant’s death, alone and drunk, in some back alley two years after he had deserted his family. Mason’s mom had raised him and his two younger sisters on her own without the help of the society, until Mason graduated from high school. Then they insisted on helping with his education.

  “The Council never would have put you through school if they hadn’t thought you were worthy of it.” What did his education have to do with their upcoming marriage?

  Mason glanced over his shoulder at her for a moment. “Thanks.”

  “Only stating the truth, Mason. You are a wonderful judge and this city is very grateful for your services.” The city might be grateful, but the criminals weren’t. Mason had a reputation in the courtroom for being notoriously tough on the criminals.

  “Last year the Council granted my mother permission to remarry outside of the society.”

  “I’ve met Walt Martin. He’s a very nice man and appears to be deeply in love with your mother. Why wouldn’t the Council grant such a.request?”

  “It means a lot to me that my mother has found some happiness.”

  “That’s nice, Mason. But I don’t see the connection between who paid for your education, your mother remarrying and calling off our wedding.”

  Mason’s grip turned white as he clutched a handful of curtain. “I can’t go back on my word to the Council, Gillian. It has to be you who requests the release.”

  Gillian stood and carried her empty cup to the counter at the opposite end of the room. Her fingers trembled so badly the cup clattered against the saucer the entire length of the living room. She turned around and faced Mason. “We have a problem then, don’t we?”

  “What problem?”

  “I can’t break my word to the Council, either, Mason. They might not have paid for my education or granted my mother a special request, but they are our ruling elders who govern the society as a whole. When I was twelve, I gave them my word to marry you. I won’t go back on that pledge now.” She clasped her hands together and raised her chin a notch. “I, too, have something called honor.”

  “Is your honor strong enough to see you through a loveless marriage?” Mason snapped.

  Gillian’s teeth sank into her lower lip to still its trembling. No, her honor wasn’t strong enough to see her through a loveless marriage. She was determined to move heaven or hell to make this marriage work, one way or another. There was only one thing that could derail the entire situation. “Do you love someone else?” If Mason’s heart was already spoken for, their marriage didn’t stand a chance.

  He seemed to take a long time before he spoke. “No.” His hot gaze scorched her from head to toe with one long look. “I don’t believe in love, Gillian. Can you give your body to a man, night after night, who doesn’t love you?”

  She tried to listen to his heart, but he wouldn’t let her in. He had thrown up shields at every angle. Mentally he was like stone, cold and hard. The emotional shields were made of solid ice, burning her gentle probing at the slightest touch.

  Could she give herself to Mason, night after night? Good question, and one she didn’t have an answer for. He certainly was a handsome man, and physically he could hold his own with what the latest Hollywood heartthrob had to offer. But would his touch be as cold as his shields were now? Could she stand it if it was? So many questions without answers.

  She knew he was a caring man by the way he talked about his family. He was concerned for his mother’s happiness, and she knew he was helping to finance his sister Kara’s education through med school. His other sister, Amy, was married to a nice warlock named Brandon. They had just adopted four-year-old twin boys from Russia, and if rumors were correct, Uncle Mason had helped out with the adoption fees and footed the bill for the remodeling and furnishing of the boys’ bedroom. Mason Blacksword didn’t strike her as a man without a heart.

  As long as he possessed a heart, he was capable of loving. It was that slim hope that held her future. “I’m sorry, Mason. If you want to break the pledge, you’ll have to speak to the Council.”

  “You would marry me knowing that I would never love you?”

  The hard edge in his voice plunged into her heart. He would never love her. Never was an awfully long time. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit she didn’t love Mason now. It was very doubtful she would fall madly in love with him before the wedding. She didn’t know Mason. She doubted if anyone really knew him. He wouldn’t allow anyone, except his family, to get that close to him. Well, in a little over two months she would be family. It would be hard for him to hide when she was living with him, especially if he was forbidden to erect any shields against her.

  Of course the same held true for her. She couldn’t erect any to keep Mason out. He would have an open view to her soul, if he chose to look. This whole issue of marriage was becoming much more complicated than she ever dreamed possible. She wanted a marriage like her parents’, filled with love, happiness and children. Why did her dream seem so terribly out of reach?

  She was tired, bone tired. Between work and the upcoming wedding, her days weren’t long enough to fit everything in. To top it off, her sleep had been fitful at best. She didn’t need this now. What she did need was eight hours of uninterrupted sleep—with no fears snatching away that precious, sleep-filled bliss.

  With a weary sigh she pushed away from the counter and walked to the door. Her left hand gripped the knob. “Listen, Mason, this isn’t getting us anywhere.” She turned the knob and opened the door. “There’s only one way for the wedding to be called off, and that’s if the Council calls it off. If you want out, go talk to the Council. I’m not the one forcing you into this.”

  Mason slowly walked across the room without taking his gaze off her. “But you’re the one who could put an end to it.”

  “What makes you think I have the power to sway the Council into making a momentous decision and releasing us from our pledge?” The idea was crazy. No one had ever been released from a marriage contract, and as far as she knew, no one had ever asked. She wasn’t going to be the first.

  Mason stopped in front of her. “You have the power. Bat those baby blues and pour on some tears. You’ll have them granting you any request within minutes.”

  “I never bat my lashes and cry on command, Mason. If I want something, I use the direct approach, not deception. It’s just one of those little things you will learn about me over time.”

  Mason stepped closer and backed Gillian against the wooden door. The warmth from his body scalded her entire length. The silk of her robe felt like liquid fire pouring over her flesh, over skin that had never before felt so alive.

  He reached out a hand and tenderly stroked the exposed skin of her throat. “There’s something you’ll learn about me, too, wife-to-be.” The back of his fingers slid down the lapels of her robe and brushed across a breast. “If this wedding takes place, I’ll be claiming my husbandly rights.”

  Gillian felt the fire from his touch through the robe. Her nipples hardened into twin points of pleasure, begging to be touched. She held his heated gaze with every ounce of strength left inside her. He was trying to scare her away. What was he, crazy? Did he actually believe his touch would repulse her?

  She allowed her glance to caress his body slowly and seductively. She secretly smiled as his body gre
w taut. He wasn’t as immune to her as he wanted her to think. Two could play this game. “I have a feeling you claiming your husbandly rights will be my pleasure.”

  Mason dropped his hand as if she burnt him and uttered a curse that made Gillian chuckle. She had heard worse on the streets of The Blades, but never once suspected Mason would use the word. “Shame on you, Mason. What would the Council think if they heard you say that word, in front of a lady, no less?”

  Mason turned and stormed out of the apartment and into the night without saying another word. She closed and locked the door. Wearily, she leaned against it and closed her eyes. What was the matter with her, baiting Mason like that? He had clearly been upset about the upcoming wedding. Where was all this compassion she was so privileged to receive as one of her gifts? She should have been comforting him and easing the strain between them instead of escalating it.

  She opened her eyes, stared down at the front of her robe and groaned in humiliation. Two berry-size nipples were pushing against the silk of her robe, still begging for Mason’s touch. Desire still burned deep within her belly. He had felt her reaction. There was no way she could have hidden that response from his gaze. Mason Blacksword had left tonight knowing that his wife-to-be wanted him.

  Chapter 3

  Gillian unlocked her office door and bent down to retrieve the scattered mail lying across the threadbare carpet. Two days’ worth of advertisements, junk mail, bills and hopefully some checks had been shoved through the tiny mail slot with a vengeance. She dropped the mail on the corner of her desk and headed for the small coffeepot she kept in the corner of the room. The office she had rented was a twelve-by-twelve room, with a cubby-size closet and an even smaller powder room. The rent was cheap because it was located in the center of the worst area in the entire city, but she had a nice chrome plaque on the door with her name and occupation: Gillian Barnett, Child Support Recovery Investigator.

  As the coffee dripped through the filter she watered the half-dozen plants scattered about the bland off-white office. The day she opened her office she had bought herself a nice low-maintenance philodendron to sit on the corner of her desk, just to brighten up the place. She had five different plant deliveries her first day. Most were from her family, one was from her best friend, Tabitha, and one was from the Council; all wished her well. None had been from Mason. Her office was beginning to feel like a jungle, as the greenery grew and overtook anything within its path.

  The two side windows, overlooking an alley and the scarred brick of another building, were heavily barred. The sun streaking through the thick bars cast a sinister shadow across the room. She didn’t like the bars—they made her feel trapped—but she understood their purpose. Hidden in an old locked cabinet, behind her desk, was the heart of her business, a computer. At first glance, her office appeared to hold nothing of value, just as she had planned. The thought of replacing the computer had been enough to make her go through the inconvenience of having the cabinet custom-made to appear worthless. So far her trick had worked. In the eighteen months she had been in business the worst thing that had happened was someone had swiped the chrome plaque on her door twice. She could live with that.

  She poured a cup of coffee and carried it to her desk. She had two hours to kill before she was due in court. Her fingers trembled slightly as she set the cup down and smoothed a wrinkle from her navy linen skirt. The suit she had put on this morning was modest, respectable and downright boring. It was one of three suits she wore to court. The honorable Judge Blacksword’s court, to be more precise. Mason’s court.

  With a heavy sigh she sat down and took a sip of coffee. She wondered how he was going to react to seeing her in his court. They hadn’t seen each other in over a week— since the night he asked her to call off the wedding and stormed out of her apartment. Knowing Mason, he would look right through her as he always did and pretend she was just another lawyer.

  She wasn’t a lawyer, and never wanted to be one. Her clients had the right to represent themselves, but they weren’t sure of themselves or the law. They also couldn’t afford a lawyer, so they hired her to handle all the paperwork and to make sure the judge would issue a court order. It was all pretty simple and straightforward, once you waded through the paperwork and located the culprit who was refusing to pay child support.

  This was to be the last court appearance she would have in front of Mason. The wedding was now less than two months away, and sooner or later they were going to have to make the announcement to the general public. Mason would no longer be able to grant her any court orders without someone crying “conflict of interest.” He would never grant her or anyone else a special favor within his court. It just wasn’t in his character. But there were only a few in the current judicial system who would believe in such honesty. Fewer still practiced it.

  Gillian picked up the pile of mail and started to sort through it. The top three pieces landed in the circular file without even being opened. The next two were small weekly payments from two of her previous clients. The note from Clair Addams brought a smile to her mouth. Clair wanted to let her know that the children were so grateful for everything she had done that they named their new kitten after her. Gillian was a six-week-old orange tabby who loved getting scratched behind her ears, drinking warm milk and playing with spools of thread.

  Another advertisement joined those in the wastebasket. Gillian reached for the next envelope and froze. Fear pulsated throughout her body as her fingers stopped an inch from the plain white envelope. It was happening again!

  Gillian closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the sender. A lot of the time her powers would enable her to visualize the person. Not this time. All she could pick up was the sender’s dark, deep and twisted hatred. He—and she was positive it was a he—was one sick individual.

  She slowly backed away from the letter. She wanted to throw the thing away, but knew she couldn’t. She had to open it and find out what was so important that he mailed her another letter.

  Cautiously she picked up a letter opener and slit the envelope. Using the opener and a pen, she pulled the single sheet of paper from the envelope and anchored it open. Six short words were neatly cut from different magazine articles and pasted onto the paper: Your Time To Pay Is Coming.

  Gillian felt shivers slip their way down her spine and cursed her moment of weakness. She shouldn’t have been scared. Whoever was sending her the notes couldn’t harm her. A mere mortal could never hurt someone with her powers. Yet, for some reason, she felt terror quake in her belly.

  As carefully as possible, and making sure she didn’t touch the paper, she slid the note back into the envelope. She studied the typed envelope. No return address and it was postmarked within the city. Whoever was sending the threats was close by. This was the third letter she received in the past two months.

  The first one she wrote off as someone’s joke. The second had given her pause. This one terrified her. The hatred poured from the paper as if it was a tangible thing. She hadn’t the first clue as to what to do with the notes. There were a couple of members of the society who were in the police department, and she was positive they would run a fingerprint test on the note if she asked them. That was the problem. If she asked them, they would feel duty-bound to mention it to the Council, and they would feel duty-bound to tell Mason.

  She didn’t want Mason learning about the threats. He wasn’t too happy with her choice of careers as it was. The last thing she needed was for him to start harping on her about going to work every day. She didn’t understand Mason’s dislike of social workers and he hadn’t bothered to explain himself. That was one of the things he would have to do once they were married.

  The first important step to a good marriage was communication. As long as they communicated with each other, they might be able to make the marriage work. She might never agree with a lot he had to say, but she was willing to listen. Problem was, be hasn’t talking. Mason rarely talked and never explained himself.


  The road to a happy marriage was littered with boulders, rock slides and mile-deep potholes. She wasn’t looking forward to traveling down that particular road, but there wasn’t a detour sign anywhere.

  With a heavy sigh she opened the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out a manila folder. Very carefully she placed the envelope containing the note in the folder. It joined the first two notes. This was no longer someone’s idea of a joke, and it surely wasn’t a coincidence. Whoever was sending the notes was serious. Dead serious.

  She placed the folder in the center of her desk and stared at it while finishing her coffee. Whoever had sent the threats was obviously a deadbeat father she had caught up with and filed a court order against to have mandatory income withheld from his paycheck. The warning that it would soon be her time to pay was too telling.

  A quick, rough estimate of bow many court orders she had filed since starting the business was thirty-five to forty. Two more appearances were already scheduled, including the one this morning. Filing for a court order was the easy part of her business; all it required was paperwork. The hard part, and the part she enjoyed the most, was tracking down the unsupportive fathers. She liked pitting her mind against a person bent not only on breaking the law but on being irresponsible where his own children were concerned.

  Any one of the thirty-five to forty men could be responsible for the threats. None of them had wanted to be found in the first place and every one of them could be harboring a hatred for her. This afternoon, as soon as she was done in court, she would boot up the computer and compile a list of all the deadbeat fathers she had found.

  She placed the folder back in the bottom drawer and finished going through the remaining mail. She wanted to arrive at court early to observe Mason while he was in his element.

  Forty-five minutes later Gillian quietly slid into an empty seat in the back of the courtroom and silently contemplated the man beneath the black robe. With the lift of one black brow he had silenced a cluster of squawking lawyers, plunging the room into an eerie hush. No one dared to breathe loudly for fear of provoking further retaliation from the judge. Gillian grinned.