Warrior

by Angela Knight

  Even as he sampled her lazily, he felt those soft little hands of hers busy on his body—one hand raking blunt nails across his butt, along his thighs, teasing and maddening, the other stroking between his thighs. The feeling of those long, tapered fingers closing around his cock made him shudder in hot delight.

  Her tongue flicked over the head in a long, teasing swirl. He shuddered.

  Lady, she was incredible. So delicate compared to the tough, muscular warrior women he was used to, she was long-legged and slim as a willow. And yet there was fire in her, a sizzling sexuality, a toughness that refused to give in, not to assassins, not to despair.

  Unease rose in him suddenly, and he froze, his tongue going still, even buried as it was in her luscious flesh.

  She was dangerous. She could get to him, work her way under his skin in a way none of the others had been able to. Somehow he sensed he’d never be able to hold her at that easy professional distance he’d always been able to maintain with his lovers.

  She could make him vulnerable.

  But even as cold breathed over Galar, her hot mouth engulfed his cock, sliding it halfway down her throat. Lust and pleasure clawed him, drowning the voice of caution with no effort at all. He groaned against her sex as Jess bobbed her head, sliding his erection in and out.

  He’d worry about his vulnerability later. Right now his Warlord’s body demanded he feed its considerable hunger.

  With a growl of need, he began to bite and lick and suckle.

  Sensation rippled through Jess, intoxicating and delicious—the hot, wet flick of his tongue, the warmth of his big hands stroking her thighs, her ass. The satin-and-steel texture of his cock, tasting of masculinity, salt, and the slightly bitter taste of pre-come. She cupped his balls in her hand, enjoying the feel of velvety skin and soft, springy curls. Widening her jaws, she took more of him in. He rewarded her with a deep groan.

  A long finger traced along the seam between her inner lips, then found her slick opening and pressed deep. The feeling made her shiver.

  Suddenly he pulled away from her as if unable to stand it anymore and turned to face her, hands braced on the couch on either side of her head.

  For a moment they stared at each other, breathing hard with need and pleasure. His angular features looked tight, his mouth full and damp. His eyes shone like a torch.

  A powerful thigh slipped between her legs, and she spread herself for him, letting him ease into position. She drew a leg up, enjoying the slide of her skin along his.

  “You drive me mad,” he said, his voice rough.

  She smiled, reaching up to draw a finger down the line of his braced arm, following the ripple of biceps down to the tendons of his wrist. “I can say the same.”

  “Good.” His lids veiled those remarkable eyes, and he lowered his head as he settled over her. She drew in a breath at the sensation of his hard strength pressing precisely against her body—not so hard that she couldn’t breathe, but letting her feel his solid power.

  Then his mouth found hers in a slow kiss, sampling, brushing back and forth, catching her lip gently between his teeth, giving her a sliding taste of his tongue. She kissed him back, savoring the taste.

  But though the kiss started out lazy, wooing, it heated like a pot coming to a boil. He began nipping at her, sliding his tongue deep. She shivered and wrapped one leg around his, sliding it the length of his big body until she could dig a heel against his ass, silently urging him on.

  He drew back with a low, hot growl, braced himself on one hand, and reached down with the other. Wrapped it around his cock, angled it, and found her.

  They both gasped as he entered, slow, relentless, a gliding thickness that teased her deliciously.

  He threw back his head, the long cords of his throat working as he fought for control. Biting down on his lip, he drew out, then pressed deep again.

  Jessica wrapped both legs around his narrow ass, then slipped her arms around his massive chest. And held on for dear life as he began to thrust. Deep. Controlled. Filling her more completely than any man ever had.

  Lost in heat and hunger, Galar rode her, watching her exquisite face. Her blue eyes shimmered, her hair spilling around her face in heaps of dark silk. Her skin shone like porcelain, contrasting with the blushing pout of her parted lips.

  Each thrust made her pretty breasts dance, full and pink-tipped and impossibly tempting. Her long legs clamped over his ass as she ground up at him, adding the strength of her slender body to his.

  Pleasure spilled through him, coiling hot around his balls, tightening, goading him to sweet madness until he thrust faster, deeper in heavy lunges. She gasped in time, surging against his body.

  The climax roared out of nowhere, a fountain of blinding fire that dragged his head back. He roared, lost in the honeyed flames, in the pulsing grip of her sex around his cock. He heard her scream in raw pleasure as she followed him over.

  When the long, delicious spasms finally died away, he collapsed over her, sweating and gasping. Somehow he possessed just enough wit to roll over onto his back and pull her into his arms. She fell against him, panting, limp. Her heart pounded against his chest.

  “God,” Jessica whimpered, “that was amazing.”

  That, he decided, was putting it mildly. He’d never had such delicious sex in his life.

  At that thought, a little snake of unease slithered up his spine.

  July 21, 2008

  Charleston, South Carolina

  The coffee shop was one of those quaint places that had helped make Charleston beloved of tourists everywhere. The street was cobblestone, shaded with century-old oaks, while the building’s exterior was painted cotton-candy pink, with contrasting baby blue Victorian gingerbread. A sign that read “The Loving Cup” hung from a pair of gold-painted hooks.

  Her heart pounding, the woman who called herself Charlotte Holt scanned her surroundings warily, too weary and frightened to notice their charm.

  The hooves of a big carriage horse clopped on the cobblestone as the beast drew a white landau past. A pair of elderly tourists smiled at her sunnily from its red leather seats. A harried-looking mother ducked around her, towing a three-year-old. The child’s face was smeared with the remnants of a chocolate ice cream cone, and he wore an expression of vast contentment.

  A big redneck in a gimmie hat drew Charlotte’s quivering attention, but a quick scan of his mind showed he was exactly what he appeared to be. Not, thank God, the Xer assassin who’d been dogging her trail like a horror-flick ghost seeking bloody vengeance.

  Deciding it was safe, she limped into the coffee shop. Her hip burned with every step, a painful reminder of the wound Marcin had inflicted two days before. If not for her powers, she’d be dead.

  Even as she pushed open the front door to the cheerful jangle of a bell, rich scents enveloped Charlotte. Expensive ground beans, chocolate, caramel, steamed milk, whipped cream, the yeasty smell of baking muffins. Her stomach rumbled. She tried to remember how long it had been since she’d eaten. Breakfast yesterday? Or had it been the day before?

  But more than the tempting promise of food for her hungry stomach—so much more than that—was the feeling of peace that hung in the shop.

  They were here.

  Every knotted muscle in her neck and shoulders relaxed. Charlotte sighed as fear and tension ran out of her like water.

  Eagerly now, she walked toward the counter. Two matronly women worked behind it, moving in the smooth rhythm of long partnership as they waited on a fidgeting teenager listening to a pink iPod. The heavier of the two dispensed a flood of something dark and steaming into a paper cup as her thin coworker rang up the kid’s purchase.

  The first woman’s round face was lined with age, and her body appeared to carry fifty or so pounds it could have done without. Her gray hair was gathered into a tidy bun on top of her head, tied with a garnet ribbon that matched her dark red apron. Her partner was taller, more wiry than round, her hair a shade of black that wa
s a little too dark, as if she’d dyed it herself, badly.

  To Charlotte’s special senses, both women seemed to radiate tranquility like a pair of matching beacons pouring light into foggy darkness.

  Vanja and Ethini.

  She’d have died for either of them without hesitation. Had damn near done so more than once.

  Charlotte watched the two with an awe and longing she didn’t bother to disguise. Vanja looked up, giving her a slow, serene smile, sweet and guileless as a child’s. “There you are. Your usual?”

  “Yes,” Charlotte said with gratitude, leaning wearily against the counter as the older woman moved briskly around pouring two large cups of ice tea. It was too hot for coffee.

  Suddenly Charlotte felt exhausted. A combination of hunger, sleeplessness, and fear, she supposed. “And a muffin, too, please.” She needed the carbs desperately.

  Vanja handed her the cups, along with a blueberry muffin on a paper plate, then exchanged a silent glance with Ethini. The two women smiled as if saying something Charlotte couldn’t hear.

  They probably were.

  As Ethini went back to work, Vanja headed toward the rear door that led out to a brick courtyard. Charlotte started after her, then paused, frowning. Something seemed to vibrate the air in her lungs, a powerful something that wasn’t either of the women.

  Instinctively, she scanned the room until her senses zeroed in on a shelf covered with knickknacks—a collection of snow globes, candles, and plates printed with paintings of Charleston landmarks. The kind of kitsch beloved of tourists everywhere, all of it dangling price tags.

  One of those tacky little objects was one hell of a lot more than it appeared.

  Charlotte shot Vanja an incredulous look. “You brought it here? What if the Xerans—?”

  The woman shrugged calmly. “Even if they do, do you really think they’ll recognize it?”

  She gave the shelf another glance. “No, I don’t suppose they would.”

  Vanja stepped through the door. Shaking her head, Charlotte followed.

  The courtyard was empty at the moment, which wasn’t surprising considering the suffocating noon heat. Vanja would hardly have suggested they talk here otherwise.

  A massive old oak dominated the space, which was surrounded by a brick wall topped with decorative wrought-iron spikes. Planters of colorful peonies nodded in a faint breeze as a bumblebee circled them drunkenly.

  Gratefully, Charlotte sank into a chair at one of the wrought-iron tables in the shade of a big garnet cafe umbrella. She sipped her tea, relishing its bracing sweetness, then took a bite of muffin and sighed. For once she wasn’t running, wasn’t hiding.

  Wasn’t afraid. Even the pain of her wound faded into the background, no more than a nagging ache.

  Vanja reached out and rested a hand on Charlotte’s injured hip. Power poured from the plump fingers, tearing a soft gasp from her lips. The pain faded, melting away as the deep knife wound began to heal.

  Dark eyes met hers, kind and infinitely deep, as Vanja took her hand away. “Poor Char-lotte.” There was a hint of some unidentifiable accent in her soft voice, something that might have been mistaken for a Charlestonian drawl. Charlotte knew better. “You have sacrificed much for us.”

  Charlotte stared into those fathomless eyes hungrily. “It was no sacrifice. I have gained far more than I lost.”

  That compassionate gaze dropped to her newly healed hip. “He hunts you still?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Colonel Marcin is not the kind to give up.” She dared reach out and touch the other woman’s hand. For just a heartbeat, she thought she felt fur under her palm. “And even if I defeat him, there will be others. The Xer mean to kill you and steal the T’lir.”

  Vanja’s mouth curled in a very slight smile. “We are not so easy to kill. Nor is the T’lir so easy to take.”

  “But they are very good at killing.” Her mouth tightened. “And stealing.” They’d stolen her life, hadn’t they?

  Vanja only shrugged.

  Charlotte sighed, afraid for her, but knowing by now that not even danger could pierce that smooth serenity. “How is Jessica?”

  Vanja’s gaze turned distant, abstracted. “Her body changes in its time. Our enemies plot her murder. She will soon face her test.”

  Charlotte’s hands twisted in her lap. “Do you know—have you seen . . . ?”

  “You know I cannot tell you that, child.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “No. I suppose not.”

  Jessica’s test was her own. Just as Charlotte’s was.

  Feeling loose-limbed and relaxed in that way that just screamed “great sex,” Jess followed Galar back to his quarters. She didn’t even bother to ask for a room of her own. Hell, after sampling his mind-blowing passion, she didn’t want one.

  She paused to watch shamelessly as he stripped, enjoying the shift and play of powerful muscle as he moved, admiring the perfect V of his torso, the length and power of his legs.

  He cocked a blond brow at her. “Enjoying the view?”

  Jess grinned. “Absolutely.”

  Galar folded his brawny arms, rocked back on his heels, and stared at her in obvious challenge. Jess laughed softly and peeled her sweatshirt off over her head.

  His golden eyes flared with approval as her bare breasts bounced free. She caught the waistband of her jeans and rolled her hips in a teasing wiggle as she pushed them down. She grinned at him. “Enjoying the view?”

  Galar barked a laugh and swooped down on her, scooping her into his arms as his cock jerked upward into full erection. “What do you think?”

  Jess wrapped her arms around his neck. “I think I’m impressed. ”

  “You think?” he purred, “Obviously, I’m going to have to work harder.”

  An hour later, deliciously exhausted, Jessica sighed as Galar pulled her against him and curled his big, sweaty body around hers. She pillowed her head on his powerful shoulder, sighed, and slid quickly into sleep.

  Jess recognized Earth. Blue, wreathed in clouds, the familiar landmasses painted in green and brown and ocher.

  The ship came screaming in, a flashing shape against the background of space. Even with her new knowledge, it seemed profoundly alien, all curves and sweeping lines that looked somehow as if no human hand had created them.

  It slammed into Earth’s atmosphere and kept going as a protective shield flared bright around it, warding off the friction of entry. As the great craft plummeted toward the ocean, Jess’s head tossed against her pillow. Tsunami, her mind whispered, conjuring images of people screaming, drowning . . .

  Instead, the ship abruptly braked and slid into the water with scarcely a splash. It slipped downward through the cold blue, deeper and deeper, until it finally settled onto the ocean floor, a cloud of silt rising around it.

  The scene shifted. A thrumming sound reverberated through the water, strange and hollow to Jess’s ears.

  The source of the thrumming finally appeared: a nuclear submarine, sliding through the depths like a shark. Lights flashed out from the sub, dancing over the alien vessel, tracing its inhuman lines.

  Damn, it’s huge, Jess thought, startled. The craft was easily five times the size of the sub.

  At last the submarine cruised away, considerably faster than it had approached. Jess could almost sense its crew’s eagerness to report what they’d found.

  But no sooner had it vanished than the ship slowly went transparent and disappeared. Some kind of camouflage field, Jess realized. But why hadn’t the crew activated it sooner?

  It was as though they wanted to be seen.

  The scene shifted again. A team of deep-sea divers appeared, only to swim away disappointed when they found nothing but cold and darkness and deep, still water.

  Shift. Now she was inside the ship. Dim, curving shapes towered around her, lit only by the gentle amber glow of alien instrumentation.

  It seemed she glided between row after row of transparent eggs, glowing a soft gold. Som
ehow she knew each of them was bigger than a man. Gazing within, she saw forms, half-seen yet unquestionably alive. Each had six limbs, covered with fine fur, and elongated heads balanced on narrow necks, from which wafted a dandelion puff of mane.

  As she gazed within one of those eggs, the eyes of its occupant met hers, huge, dark, lit with a profound intelligence. Kind eyes, alien though they were, radiating sweetness and peace. Christian saints might have had eyes like that.

  Half-hypnotized, Jess floated in the darkness, letting the creature’s alien serenity wash over her in gentle waves.

  Until blue light exploded in the darkness like a lightning strike. Figures flashed into being between the eggs, massive, armored, spikes glinting from shaved skulls.

  Jess recoiled in horror.

  Xer!

  One of the Xerans stepped directly into her view. A woman, delicate rings jutting from her temples. After a frozen instant of blank horror, Jess recognized the big green eyes and fragile features, despite their cold expression.

  Charlotte Holt.

  Jess jerked upright with a shout. Heat and light burst from the center of her chest, illuminating the room. All around her, she saw objects dance with a clatter, then tumble from shelves, hitting the carpeted floor in a chorus of thumps.

  “Jessica!” Strong arms closed around her. “Lights!” Galar snapped. The room filled with a soft white glow, banishing the last of the alien light.

  “The Xer!” Instinctively, Jess dug her nails into his biceps with a strength born of desperation. “They’re going to kill them! They’re going to steal the T’lir!”

  “Hey! Hey, it’s all right,” he said soothingly. “You just had a nightmare.”

  She scanned the room wildly. Every object he’d had on his shelves lay on the floor now, as if toppled in a storm of energy. “Are you sure about that?”

  And what the hell was a T’lir?

  “We must have had an earthquake,” Galar told her. She’d told him about the dream as they moved around the room picking up and putting away the fallen trids, statuary, and weapons.

  Jess stopped in the act of picking up the data sheet and stared at him. “In Georgia?”