Stephanie Rowe - Darkness Unleashed

  His eyes darkened. Of course not.

  She smiled, unable to keep the wicked gleam out of her eyes. Then you better call me Cat.

  And with that, Ryland lurched to his feet. "I gotta go, guys. Cat needs me." Then, without even bothering to look back at his team, he scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and headed out of the room.

  Heat suffused her cheeks as she braced her hands on his lower back and looked back at the team, unable to hide her giggles. They were all laughing, a knowing and somewhat smug look on all their faces, as if they were thoroughly enjoying the fact that Ryland was whipped. They got it, which was a relief. But at the same time...carting her off in the middle of a meeting? Put me down, Ryland. This is completely embarrassing.

  You think I care what anyone else thinks? I need you, Cat. Now.

  Her heart softened at the desperate edge to his voice. You're impossible, Ry.

  His arm tightened around her thighs. You better believe it, baby, and I'm never going to get any easier.

  She grinned. That's exactly how I like it.

  You mean love it?

  Her heart filled. Yes, I mean love it. And she did.

  Sneak Peek: INFERNO OF DARKNESS

  The Order of the Blade, Book Eight (Novella)

  Available November 2013

  In the beginning, many centuries ago…

  He wanted her.

  There was no way for Dante to deny his response to the whispered warning she had sent dancing along the breeze to him. He had no idea who she was, or what she looked like, but her voice was like the harmony of early morning, the whisper of new leaves brushing against the dew, the delicateness of flower blossoms coming to life. The energy of her words spun through him with restless temptation, prying him from his dark thoughts about Louis and the bloodbath he'd left behind.

  In his world, craving a woman this intensely was a very, very dangerous thing.

  He wanted to race toward her.

  He wanted to rip aside the canopy of leaves shielding her from his sight.

  He wanted to find her, to claim her, to consume her.

  So, instead, he stopped and went completely still. He reached out with his preternatural senses, searching the landscape ahead. The mountain was ominously tall. Turbulent dark clouds coated the sky above him, but it wasn't enough to block her. He caught the faint scent of woman, pure and delicate, and his gut clenched in response. But still, he didn't move. Instead, he carefully located the pulsing energy of the sword she was guarding. She was between him and the sword, an obstacle that he had to pass in order to retrieve the weapon.

  Testing her, he turned left, circling around behind her. As he moved, she shifted, keeping herself between him and the sword. She could sense him? Was her awareness of him as intense as his awareness of her?

  He looked down at the protective symbols on his arms and saw they were still blazing. As long as they were visible, the sheva bond could not affect him. No woman could be his soulmate. He was still safe from that fate...but if that was the case, why was he reacting to her so intensely? He had no time for women. He had no time for seduction. He was never distracted from what he had to do.

  So, what the hell was going on with her?

  He had no time to play games any longer. He needed that sword, and he needed it now, which meant he had to get past her. He was tempted to call out his spears, but he didn't. Never would there come a day when he approached a woman armed. Ever.

  So, instead, he straightened up, fisted his hands, and strode right through the undulating shadows toward her.

  His feet were silent on the forest floor, and the leaves moved out of his way as he walked, responding to his silent request for passage, as they always did. Ahead of him, he could see that the trees thinned, and he knew he was approaching a clearing.

  His weapons still burning in his arms, responding to the risk she presented, Dante stepped forward through the last of the foliage and into the open, exposed area.

  He didn't see her.

  Disappointment surged through him as he quickly scanned the vicinity. Trees stood tall above him, their branches long and spindly, tangling into each other, weaving a canopy that protected this area from the rest of the world. Sparse grass clung to barren dirt. Ancient rocks lay battered, half-submerged in the weary ground. He could sense the suffering of this place, of the people who had once lived and died in this clearing. So much to tell him, and yet the one thing he wanted to know more about was hidden. He saw no sign of her, but her presence was strong, a vibrating energy of light and dark. "Show yourself," he commanded.

  Again, no response. Not even another whispered reply on the wind.

  Awareness still prickling on his neck, he walked further into the clearing, reaching out with his senses, searching for a ripple in the atmosphere that would reveal her location. Out into each direction he sent queries, and then he found her. A block in the transference of energy, a shield of sorts, in the northwest end of the clearing.

  He turned toward it, his hands still flexing. Behind her, he could feel the sword's energy calling to him, more intensely than ever before. The urge to respond to its summons was thundering through him, almost impossible to resist, but he refused to acknowledge it. This woman, this mysterious woman who was guarding it, this sensual temptation of danger...she was what he needed to deal with first.

  He kept his gaze riveted on the swirl of feminine energy that he'd located. He couldn't see her, but he knew she was there. "I am going to take the sword," he said.

  "No." Her voice was clear, a shot to his gut with the raw intensity of it. It wasn't simply feminine, it was powerful and strong, rich with sensuality. "Walk away."

  "It's been calling to me." He took a step closer, and felt a sudden burst of wind slam against his chest, as if she'd shoved the air at him as a warning. Could she manipulate air? He'd never heard of that. "The sword wants me to retrieve it."

  "Do not touch it." As the words filled the air, a faint mist began to glisten in the location he was watching, like millions of dew droplets in the first rays of morning light.

  Adrenaline and anticipation roared through him, and he was riveted by the rainbow-colored prisms as they glittered and sparkled, becoming less transparent. Then he saw her face beginning to take shape. An incredible, vibrant turquoise began to glow as it slid into the shape of her nose, a delicate slope of pure femininity. Smooth cheeks of perfection, the sensual curve of her jaw, parted lips. Her hair began to appear, tumbling down around her in violet and turquoise cascades of thick curls. And then her eyes. Dante stood, transfixed, as her eyes appeared, vibrant blue pools flanked with long, thick lashes, watching him intently.

  Her body began to manifest. Long, delicate arms, a mystical dress clinging to her body, showing small breasts of surreal temptation, hips that bled into lean legs, bare feet that seemed to fade right into the grassy tufts by her toes.

  "What are you?" he asked, his voice gruffer than he'd intended.

  "I don't exist here." There was a sudden shimmer, as if a thousand prisms had shifted position, and then she was standing before him, fully corporeal, with flesh as human as his. Her cascade of colors shifted into a rich, decadent shower of brown curls, and an endless temptation of flesh so pale it looked as though it had never seen the sun. But her eyes were the same, a vibrant, iridescent symphony of violet, rich blue, and enchantment.

  Stunned, he closed the distance between them, compelled by the need to touch her. To see if she was real. She lifted her chin regally as he neared. She did not retreat, but her muscles tensed, and a ripple of fear echoed through the air.

  He stopped a mere foot from her and raised his hand. Gently, almost afraid that he would shatter the mirage, he brushed his fingers ever so lightly over the ends of her curls. Silken strands glided through his fingers, the softest sensation he'd ever experienced. She closed her eyes and went utterly still, as if drinking in his touch with every ounce of her being.

  "You do exist here," he said so
ftly, forcing himself to drop his hand, trying to shield himself against the depth of his urge to slide his hand down her arm, to feel the warmth of her skin against his. Again, he looked down at his protective markings and saw they were still blazing as black as they had the first time he'd finally succeeded in manifesting them. This wasn't a sheva compulsion. It couldn't be. So what was it?

  She opened her eyes, and he saw that they had darkened into deep blue, though they still had the glittery sparkles in them. "You are worthy," she said softly. "I can feel your strength, your capability. The sword has chosen well. Too well," she added, the regret obvious in her voice.

  Dante had no idea what the hell was going on, not with the sword that had been summoning him, not with this woman who had manifested from a glittery mist, and not with his own burning desire for her. Swords, he understood. All this? No, but he was going to figure it out, and fast. "My name is Dante Sinclair. I'm the leader of the Order of the Blade." He did not add that he was the only one left of a decimated Order. The last Calydon alive who had a chance to save the earth from the rogues. "Who are you?"

  "Dante Sinclair," she repeated, sending warmth spiraling through him as she said his name. She made it sound poetic, like a great gift offered to the very earth upon which they stood. She gave a low curtsy. "My name is Elisha, daughter of the Queen of Darkness. Soon to be consort to the master Adrian."

  Dante went cold at her words. "Consort?" That one word had chased every other bit of information she'd offered out of his mind. "What does that mean?"

  She rose to her feet, and something flickered in her eyes, something he couldn't decipher, but she definitely had reacted to his fury about her becoming some guy's consort.

  She raised her hand and brushed her fingers over his cheek. "Your anger at my words is beautiful." Her touch was like silk, like the whisper of a new dawn across his skin. Without speaking, he laid his hand over hers, pressing her palm to his face. Her hand was cool, drifting through his body like the cleansing rain of a raging summer storm.

  Her gaze went to his. "You have freedom here, in the earth realm. I can sense it about you. Your heart—" She laid her other hand on his chest, moving even closer to him. "—it beats differently than mine. I can feel its freedom. It's like the purest magic, born of innocence and honor." A sense of awe appeared on her face, and Dante felt his world begin to close in on him as he tumbled into her spell.

  Unbidden, his hand slid to the back of her neck. He needed to touch her. To kiss her. To claim her. To make her his.

  Her eyes widened, and she froze, going utterly still. "No," she whispered. "This cannot be."

  "Just like how you don't exist in the earth realm?" He bent his head, his lips hovering a breath from hers. "Because you do exist. And this can be, because it's happening right now."

  "No!" A gust of wind suddenly slammed into his chest and thrust him backwards. He landed ten feet away, on his ass, a pawn in the grasp of her power.

  Damn. That was impressive. With a groan that he didn't mean to let slip, he vaulted back to his feet, disgusted that he'd let his need for her dictate his actions. Had he really just considered seducing her when his last hope for the rebuilding of the Order lay dead, only half a day's run from here? Shit. He lowered his head, studying her more carefully. The power of a woman. A princess? What in the hell was going on? "Who is the Queen of Darkness? And what realm are you from, if you're not from the earth realm?"

  Elisha was facing him, her hands dangling loosely by her sides, her gaze blazing. "You must leave," she said urgently. "You must."

  There was no chance of that. "Where is the sword from, Elisha?" He began to walk toward her again, but this time, it wasn't about seduction. It was about his mission, his job, his calling. "How is it calling me?"

  "No." Once again, she sent air at him, pushing him backwards, but this time he was ready.

  He simply braced himself and shoved forward, cutting through the invisible wall.

  Her face tightened with fear. "Halt!" she commanded, with the imperious force of the royalty she'd claimed to be.

  He stopped. "Tell me why." She was soon going to be some man's consort? Really? Shit. Why was he thinking about that when he was facing down an enemy? He schooled his thoughts away from seduction, desire, and temptation, and faced the princess. "Tell me what's going on."

  Sneak Peek: DARKNESS AWAKENED

  The Order of the Blade, Book One

  Available Now

  Quinn Masters raced soundlessly through the thick woods, his injuries long forgotten, urgency coursing through him as he neared his house. He covered the last thirty yards, leapt over a fallen tree, then reached the edge of the clearing by his cabin.

  There she was.

  He stopped dead, fading back into the trees as he stared at the woman he’d scented when he was still two hours away, a lure that had eviscerated all weakness from his body and fueled him into a dead sprint back to his house.

  His lungs heaving with the effort of pushing his severely damaged body so hard, Quinn stood rigidly as he studied the woman whose scent had called to him through the dark night. She’d yanked him out of his thoughts about Elijah and galvanized him with energy he hadn’t been able to summon on his own.

  And now he’d found her.

  She’d wedged herself up against the back corner of his porch, barely protected from the cold rain and wet wind. Her knees were pulled up against her chest, her delicate arms wrapped tightly around them as if she could hold onto her body heat by sheer force of will. Her shoulders were hunched, her forehead pressed against her knees while damp tangles of dark brown hair tumbled over her arms.

  Her chest moved once. Twice. A trembling, aching breath into lungs that were too cold and too exhausted to work as well as they should.

  He took a step toward her, and then another, three more before he realized what he was doing. He froze, suddenly aware of his urgent need to get to her. To help her. To fill her with heat and breathe safety into her trembling body. To whisk her off his porch and into his cabin.

  Into his bed.

  Quinn stiffened at the thought. Into his bed? Since when? He didn’t engage when it came to women. The risk was too high, for him, and for all Calydons. Any woman he met could be his mate, his fate, his doom. His sheva.

  He was never tempted.

  Until now.

  Until this cold, vulnerable stranger had appeared inexplicably on his doorstep. He should be pulling out his sword, not thinking that the fastest way to get her warm would be to run his hands over her bare skin and infuse her whole body with the heat from his.

  But his sword remained quiet. His instincts warned him of nothing.

  What the hell was going on? She had to be a threat. Nothing else made sense. Women didn’t stumble onto his home, and he didn’t get a hard-on from simply catching a whiff of one from miles away.

  His trembling quads braced against the cold air, he inhaled her scent again, searching for answers to a thousand questions. She smelled delicate, with a hint of something sweet, and a flavoring of the bitterness of true desperation. He could practically taste her anguish, a cold, acrid weight in the air, and he knew she was in trouble.

  His hands flexed with the need to close the distance between them, to crouch by her side, to give her his protection. But he didn’t move. He didn’t dare. He had to figure out why he was so compelled by her, why he was responding like this, especially at a time when he couldn’t afford any kind of a distraction.

  She moaned softly and curled into an even tighter ball. His muscles tightened, his entire soul burning with the need to help her. Quinn narrowed his eyes and pried his gaze off her to search the woods.

  With the life of his blood brother in his hands, with an Order posse soon to be after him, with his own body still recovering from Elijah’s assault, it made no sense that Quinn had even noticed the scent of this woman, let alone be consumed by her.

  His intense need for her felt too similar to the compulsion that had sent
him to the river three nights ago. Another trap? He’d suspected it from the moment he’d first reacted to her scent, but he’d been unable to resist the temptation, and he’d hauled ass to get back to his house. Yeah, true, he’d also needed to get back to his cabin to retrieve his supplies to go after Elijah. The fact she’d imbued him with new strength had been a bonus he wasn’t going to deny.

  But now he had to be sure. A trap or not? Quinn laughed softly. Shit. He hoped it was. If it wasn’t, there was only one other reason he could think of to explain his reaction to her, and that would be if she was his mate. His sheva. His ticket to certain destruction.

  No chance.

  He wouldn’t allow it.

  He had no time for dealing with that destiny right now. It was time to get in, get out, and go after Elijah. His amusement faded as he took a final survey of the woods. There was no lurking threat he could detect. Maybe he’d made it back before he’d been expected, or maybe an ambush had been aborted.