by Tara Nina
Those words were beaten into his skull until he believed them to be truth. It was the only life he knew. Unable to stop it, an ugly smirk clouded his face as he replied, “It is an even trade and a fine one at that. The sword of a master for,” he purposely paused, slanted his gaze in Rose’s direction, darted his tongue across his lower lip then added, “a taste of safety.”
If Kade had not grabbed Smythe’s arm, he would have lunged out of the wagon at Alessandro. But just as quick, Alessandro turned on his heels, took the missive from Rose and left the stable.
The single word, “Kade” was bellowed from outside.
“Ah, it is the sound of a crazed bird that calls for me,” Kade jested, releasing Smythe’s arm. Clearing the side of the wagon in a swift leap, he landed beside Rose with the sword in his hand.
“Still think he is worth the challenge?” he mentally whispered to Rose.
“Yes,” Rose whispered in return. “His tone may be rough, but I sense there lays a warm, gentle creature beneath his skin. Though he does have much to learn of dealing with angry fathers.”
“It is not his way to handle such with an ounce of delicacy or couth. Let us hope that you have not bitten off more than you can swallow, my little panther.” In a brotherly gesture, he nudged her chin with his fingertip then turned to her father.
“I thank you for such a fine piece of workmanship. How is it that a man with the skill of a talented swordsmith dons the cloth of a blacksmith?” Kade’s eyebrow cocked as he watched Smythe.
“It was not always my wish to be a blacksmith,” Smythe replied. “In my younger years, I apprenticed with a fine swordsmith. But fate dealt me a different path to follow.”
“It will be my honor to carry it at my side.” The look in Kade’s eyes gave Rose the impression that he understood her father chose family over his love of the swordsmith’s craft. With a nod of his head, he left.
“Poppa.” Rose faced her father who now stood at the end of the wagon replacing the wooden slats. “It is not necessary to goad Sir Alessandro that way. He has done nothing wrong.”
“Rose.” Smythe looked up from what he was doing and held a level fatherly stare at her filled with a lethal dose of warning that any other daughter would have heeded. But not Rose. “I may not have the ability that you and your mother, God rest her soul, were gifted with to shift. But my other senses are fine. You of all people should know this.”
He gathered her hand in his as he continued. “When you returned to the room, Kade was not the only one who took notice of his scent upon you. I did as well.” Dropping her hand, she noted he scanned the area, insuring they were alone before he continued to voice his words. In his angry state, it was difficult for him to project his thoughts mentally. “It was bad enough he marked you. But from the heavy scent of shifters around here, I understand why he did.”
At the mention of the mark, her fingers absently brushed the area on her neck, which bore the sign of being claimed. But he had not done it to claim her as his. Rose’s heart skipped for a beat or two. He did it to protect her. Inhaling deep, it surprised Rose that she initially missed the thick aroma of shifters in the air. None tried to hide their scent. It was as if they knew they were safe within the walls of Sir Alessandro’s domain.
Rose cupped her father’s cheek. “Anger does not suit you, Poppa. You have nothing to fear. My virtue remains.”
“Aye,” he stated. His features calmed but the heat of his anger remained in his words as he continued. “But for how long? It is the nature of the beast to mate. And you, my child, are a rare treasure, a female shifter and a white panther, the likes of which has never been seen.”
* * * * *
After making a swift search of the room to assure their privacy, Alessandro confronted Kade the moment he stepped upon the dais in the great hall. No words passed between them for several moments. Each stared steadily at the other, backs rigid, shoulders straight with their animal instincts honed on one another waiting and watching for the other to flinch. Alessandro knew this test of wills would not end well, because neither he nor Kade were defenseless in stubbornness. He gritted his teeth and was about to concede when Kade made the first move.
“You know, Alex this shall go on for days. But I sense there are more pressing matters in your hand than the fancy of a woman.” With that said between them, Kade pushed past Alessandro, laid his new sword on the table and took a seat.
A fierce growl of frustration rumbled from Alessandro as he flounced into the chair beside Kade. Never had he dealt with a situation such as this before. A woman pitted him against his Captain of the Guard, his cousin Kade. The one man who knew all his secrets and still stood by his side.
What was wrong with him?
He tossed the missive on the table and the sword beside it. A man with the talent of forging steel such as Smythe should know a way to control his daughter. Both hands shook as he ran his fingers through his hair. No. He would not blame Rose for his incompetence in controlling his body’s primal urges. He was the master of this manor, the leader of his troops and a shifter. But not just any shifter, he was the alpha of this meager pack of misfits he called family and friends and he refused to buckle to this raging lust ripping through his system.
The temporary disruption Rose caused in his life would dissipate, he tried to convince himself. The sooner they resolved this issue against the king, the better it would be for all involved. Including himself. He exhaled heavily as he grabbed the missive.
Alessandro slipped his dagger from the sheath at his hip. After lighting one of the candles on the table, he carefully heated the tip of the blade. The seal must not be damaged if the king was to believe its authenticity. With a trick he learned from a spy, he gently slid the heated tip under the edge of the wax seal and at slow intervals, he edged it underneath, lifting the seal from the paper in one unbroken piece.
As Kade hovered close, he unfurled the parchment. Even though the script was written in a pathetic code, together they deciphered the message. Miffed at the loss of his title and lands, Lindsey placed a strategy in motion. In his determination to regain his place, he planned to attack the king and kill him. According to the missive, Lindsey was privy to the king’s movements and knew of his plan to travel to his daughter Amelia’s residence at Weymouth.
An age-old rumor hinted that King George favored Amelia and gave her many treasures. Knowing he and his brothers were not enough to handle the king’s guard, Lindsey requested help with men and arms in this battle in return for lands, money and a split of whatever bounty was found in her home and within the king’s personal belongings. Alessandro skimmed the missive in search of a name of its recipient, but found none. He grunted. At least the idiot showed wisdom enough to implicate only himself thus far in this act of treason.
Scrawled across the bottom of the parchment was the reply to Lindsey. Consider your request for assistance in this matter granted. Though he hated it, Alessandro had to give this unknown accomplice an ounce of respect. Where Lindsey appeared to be a bumbling fool by documenting his intent, whomever he contacted at least had the sense to remain anonymous. It was evident by his replying on Lindsey’s personal stationary rather than using his own. And his lack of signature showed a wise strategy.
Alessandro examined the wax seal and realized it wasn’t the first time it’d been removed by the heated tip of a blade. Their unidentified adversary knew the tricks of spies as well. At last a challenge, a chance for a battle, the inner voice of the Black Knight whispered. Who were they up against? Before the darkest part of his soul rose to the forefront of his skin, Alessandro breathed deep, shoving the deadly demon down, at least for the time being. But he knew when the fighting started the Black Knight would win. It always did.
He sat back for a moment. Alessandro knew what the king felt to be his greatest treasure and doubted Lindsey’s spies uncovered it. After a string of victories, the king rewarded him with an introduction into the healing abilities of the bath, especial
ly that of saltwater.
A smile threatened to upturn his lips at the memory of his first experience, but he kept it at bay. The king had been adamant that he imbibe in the pleasure, so he forced his feline sensitivities to relax and submerged in the waters of the king’s private saltwater bathhouse at Weymouth.
Alessandro shivered inwardly at the phantom sensation of warmth that encased the memory. It had been the first time anyone showed him kindness. Why the king extended such liberties toward him, he never deduced, but with the rumor of the king’s beleaguered condition fresh on the forefront of his thoughts, he knew he might never learn the truth. If they knew the king considered Amelia and the bathhouse to be his greatest treasure, would they still attack? Alessandro snorted. It didn’t matter. Blazoned on the parchment in front of him lay proof of treason.
“Seems Rose was right. There is a dangerous plot afoot.”
Kade’s eyes sparkled with a lust for battle. The hunger gnawed at Alessandro’s gut as well. Many months had passed since they fought an adversary. There had been no need for conflict. Being given this forgotten land to protect baffled Alessandro. His eyebrow arched as an idea took root. Maybe the king placed his most fierce weapon out of sight until needed.
Glancing at the missive, he knew he was needed now whether the king knew it or not. With great care, he heated the back of the wax seal with the candle and replaced it. To the common eye, it gave no semblance of having been opened.
“Kade, gather the troops and make ready the weapons. We leave on the rise of the sun.”
Without a word, Kade rose and left the room. The air around him sizzled with a surge of energy. It seemed a fight was what they both needed to take the edge off. But would it alleviate his problem? Thinking of Rose, he knew it would not.
Alessandro leaned back in his chair. The coded script hit a familiar nerve. A sensation of pure evil tingled down his spine. Though Lindsey failed to acknowledge the receiver, his identity Alessandro felt he knew. His gut tightened. A face and name he never failed to remember floated through his thoughts. It haunted him in his sleep and drove his inner beast into a blood-lust frenzy. If he were not so preoccupied with the alluring scent of the woman in his bed, he would have recognized it on the wind last night.
Mephistopheles.
The man who lived up to his demon name hovered somewhere on the outskirts of Alessandro’s land waiting for another confrontation with his student. Alessandro’s jaw tightened at the thought. He was never his student, just a slave beaten into submission but never truly broken. Though he tried to stop it, the memory of those dreadful years he was held captive in the demon’s lair flooded his senses.
He rolled his shoulders at the phantom sensation of the whip stinging his flesh. Many times over, he’d been punished for fighting for the freedom of the other shifters held captive. Thinking back now, it seemed odd that the majority of those taken prisoner were of shifter descent. Was it because of the animal instinct to fight? He swallowed hard against the lump of disgust that threatened to choke him.
Few survived the rigorous tortures thrust upon them. Beaten, starved and forced to fight, he learned the skill of the sword and mastered the art of war where others had died. An eerie pride flowed from the blackness within his soul that no weapon of their time escaped his knowledge and became an extension of his hand. The art of war was all he knew when he escaped. The master’s message forever ingrained in his head urged the Black Knight to surface, but he grappled for control and kept it caged.
The master, Alessandro snarled. He dug the heel of his hand into his temple to stave the sudden throb the unwanted memories caused. He never sank so low as to call the demon spawn his master, though he demanded it from Alessandro everyday. The skin down his back ached as if it never forgot the heat of the leather to his flesh.
Every day Alessandro took the beating that little act of defiance cost him. In his gut he knew that if the single word “master” slipped from his lips, it would have been an admission of defeat. His heart pounded and his head throbbed as his insides warred with one another. He admitted inwardly that defiance gave him the slender grain of hope needed that kept him alive.
But was it worth it? Alessandro rolled his head between his hands and applied more pressure to the incessant thump of his brain. He’d gained his freedom from the hell that was Mephistopheles. But death and destruction were all he knew. Then it struck him and he froze. Perhaps that was Mephistopheles’ intent. His release on the world gave birth to the Black Knight of Death.
Oh God! What had he done?
Would it have been better for all if he bowed to the demon’s hand? No! His inner panther roared and his insides felt as if the two sides of his soul squared off. Was there good within him? Sweat dripped from his brow as the all-too-familiar battle for ownership of his soul continued. Alessandro dropped his hands to his sides and laid his head back on the chair, taking deep breaths in an attempt to soothe the confliction within his emotions. Eyes closed, he prayed for relief.
A vision of Rose filled his mind and the turmoil instantly ceased. This was not right, but he could not stop. Alessandro sat quietly, letting the memory of her essence ease his tension. He knew he shouldn’t think of her in such a manner, not if he planned to let her go.
Preoccupied, he did not hear the footsteps until too late.
Mikala hauled up her skirts and straddled his lap in one quick motion. As if she planned her assault, her breasts sprang free of her loosened dress, smothering his face in their heaviness. From her actions of avidly rocking on his lap and her vocal moans, it appeared to anyone who watched that they were intimately engaged.
Desperate to be rid of her, Alessandro clasped her waist and tried to pry her from his lap, but the wench had other ideas. She hooked her ankles under his knees, fisted her hands in his hair and held tight her position.
“Mikala,” Alessandro roared. “Release me this instant!”
“Sir Alessandro,” Mikala gasped as if she were climaxing, her voice loud enough for all to hear within shouting distance. “Such a great shaft beneath me. Your release is my reward. Oh! Oh!” she screamed as she intensified her rocking motion in his lap. “Sir Alessandro, you give great pleasure!”
Alessandro caught Rose’s scent a second before she turned and ran from the doorway. So this was what Mikala was about. Anger sizzled through his veins. He should have sent her packing with the prior lord. Why he had shown the whore leniency he couldn’t remember, but at the moment he didn’t care.
With the force of a raging bull, Alessandro stood, sending Mikala toppling to the floor. Her skirts tangled around her waist and her bosoms flopped and jiggled against her chest. The woman held no lure for him. The sharpness of her laughter ripped through him. This was the last event he would suffer with her.
“Pack your things, Mikala. There is no place left here for you,” he ordered between clenched teeth. As he grabbed the parchment from the table, he stepped over her and had to refrain from spitting on her in disgust.
As fast as he could, he dashed up the stairs after Rose. When he reached his door, he found it locked. On a heavy sigh, he pressed his forehead against the door. It was for the best she thought the worst of him. Though it wasn’t her intent to help him, Mikala handed him a way to distance himself from Rose. As long as the lady thought him to be a womanizing pig, then the opportunity for him to touch Rose again would not arise. Even though Alessandro knew it was the only way, it felt as if a hand clasped his heart and tightened as he turned and walked away.
She listened until the echo of his footsteps faded. Lifting her ear from the door, Rose turned and paced. Tears slid silently down her cheeks. The man had no dignity, no shame when it came to seeking relief for his own needs. And to do such on the dais displayed for all to see… Rose swallowed hard, battling the sudden urge to retch.
It was not her right to feel such inner misery. They held no claim on one another. He was not hers and she was not his. Then why did she feel as if her heart we
re cut in two? How dare he do this to her.
Earlier, those hands touched her in intimate places, opened a world of heat and desire, which made her hunger for him. But now, after seeing him take pleasure with another, Rose shivered. A giant knot twisted inside her gut. How could he have done such a thing knowing that someone could walk in at any moment? That she could walk in and catch him in the act? With the back of her hand, she wiped away her tears then stopped in her tracks as a sudden thought burned in her brain.
Had he done this purposely to turn her away? If so, why?
Had he discovered her plan to capture his heart?
In need of air, Rose pushed open the shutter of the small window. It overlooked the ward where the men practiced. Instead of practice routines, she noted they assembled the wagons as if making ready to leave, packing tents and supplies, weapons and armor. Glancing around the busy ward, her gaze fell upon one man and refused to move.
As if he knew she watched, Alessandro tilted his chin, lifting his gaze to hers. Though the distance was great, she thought she saw a flicker of regret, but just as quickly a darkness devoid of emotion replaced it. A look of pure menace fell upon his face as if it were a mask that shielded his skin.
Another would have turned away. But not Rose. Instead she stiffened her spine, straightened her shoulders and glared back at him with her chin tilted in a defiant manner. This was not over. The black panther belonged to her and her alone and she intended to prove that to him, no matter what it took.
Inhaling deeply, she picked his scent from the mix of human, shifter and animals on the breeze. The panther within ached to shift and teach him a lesson he would not forget.
As she held his hardened glare, she intentionally touched the mark and allowed a wicked smile to taint her lips. Marked for protection? No, he placed the mark as a claim to the white panther. There was no other reason. Though she did not project her thoughts to him, his gaze narrowed as if he heard her. After shouting orders, he spun on his heel and stomped from view, headed toward the stables.