The Darkest Warrior

by Gena Showalter

  Once, she'd been too feeble. Now? Threat to the max.

  For some reason, that made her glance at Puck and--she gasped. He watched her, his stare penetrating and intense. Aggressive, even, as if he had already mentally stripped her.

  Shivers danced down her spine. Her panties? Now soaked. "H-how can you be so sure?" she asked, forcing herself to focus on William. Stuttering? Her?

  With a glare at Puck, he said, "I'm the total package, darling. Beauty, brains, brawn. And fated."

  Fated. Aka "meant to be." Aka "everything happens for a reason." Aka her most reviled idioms.

  Yes, she'd once been overjoyed by the idea of belonging to William. Now? "No such thing as fated." Over the centuries, she'd watched couples interact, fascinated by their nuances, how some crumbled at the first sign of trouble and others flourished. "There's attraction and then, if you want to sustain the relationship, there's hard work."

  "But what causes the first draw, hmm?" William asked.

  "If you're telling me the first draw is fated, then you'll have to tell me why the attraction sometimes fades."

  He glowered. Because he had no response.

  "Oracles can predict who will end up with whom," Puck said, his tone somewhat sharp.

  "Prediction is different from fate," she pointed out.

  "Fate is what drives us," William said.

  Ugh. He was one of those. People who assigned a supernatural reason to every calamity, or blamed a higher power. And there was a higher power. Absolutely. Gillian's friend Olivia--former friend, she supposed, since they hadn't spoken in over five hundred years--was a Sent One married to Aeron, former keeper of Wrath. Olivia had often spoken about Most High's creation of humans and other beings. But the MH did not cause tragedies. He was the essence of Love. Bad things happened because people were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bad things happened because evil existed. Because good people made bad choices. Because bad people did bad things.

  The only reason an adult raped a child--his own sick desires. All that "I couldn't help myself" crap? A lie. Her stephorrors should have resisted temptation. Not that young Gillian should have been any kind of temptation. They made their choices. Them. No one else.

  And, okay, say a female cheated on her male. She ruined the love match, not fate. Say a male ventured somewhere he wasn't supposed to go and died. His actions caused his death, not fate.

  "Has Keeley or someone else foretold us?" she asked William.

  He glowered again. "No. But I'm certain here." He tapped the center of his chest.

  A rough sound sprang from Puck.

  Continue walking. Tune out husband. "Trust me when I say you don't want to be mine," she said to William. "According to the Oracles, I'll kill my man's dreams, have to choose between what could be and what will be, and never experience a happy ending."

  "The Oracles are wrong," he replied. "They probably aren't even certified as Foreknowledge Specialists."

  Uh, there was no such thing. Right?

  Puck believed the Oracles, no doubt about it. She did too--sometimes, at her lowest. But even still, she remained determined. Her life would be whatever she made it. She would have a happy ending, because she would accept nothing less. She would fight, and fight hard to achieve her goals. Nothing would stop her.

  Look how far she'd come already.

  "Gillian?" Warm, calloused fingers stroked her jaw. Drugging tingles followed. "You stopped. Why?"

  She blinked rapidly, snapping to attention just in time to watch William knock Puck's hand away. Even when her mind had been unaware, her husband had made her body react.

  The two men snarled at each other.

  Mercy. Who was she supposed to vote for? Beauty or the Beast?

  You know who...

  Deciding retreat was her best option, she said, "I'll spread the word that you guys aren't to be harmed. Feel free to walk about, look around, whatever you want, but do not hurt anyone. Got it? And do not sleep with my soldiers." If Puck cheated on her...

  Teeth clenched, she added, "I'll see you at the feast this evening." Head high, she marched off before anyone could protest.

  Won't look back. Absolutely will not. She turned a corner, putting a house between her and the guys, voiding the temptation. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Pasting a fake smile on her face, she made a beeline for Rosaleen, a petite beauty with gorgeous brown skin, dark hair and darker eyes. She would be considered flawless, if not for the X branded into her forehead. The mark of her former "master." The cruel brute had ensured his "fillies" could be identified with a single glance, if ever they managed to escape.

  "Double the guard around the perimeter," Gillian said. The Walshes would know the Shawazons decimated the outpost, because she'd left her favorite calling card: no survivors. They would attack, and soon. "And ask our best cooks to whip up a feast fit for a queen. Tonight we celebrate the return of my husband and friend."

  "Are we adding poison to expedite the end of your marriage? And if so, do you want him to die slow or fast?" Rosaleen asked, totally serious.

  "Valid questions." She pretended to think over her response. "No poison. Tomorrow I'm escorting the men to the Connacht fortress. Winter and Cameron are coming with us, I'm sure, which means you and Johanna will be in charge."

  Rosaleen nodded. "Be careful. I encountered Sin Connacht only once, but he spooked me for life. There's something seriously off about him."

  "We'll defeat him." Failure was not an option.

  Avoiding everyone else, Gillian made her way home. A small stone house she'd helped build. She'd never taken an interest in decorating, so the walls remained unpainted. The only personal touches--the weapons she'd hung here, there, everywhere, and the shelf holding jars she'd filled with trophies she'd taken from the most vicious of her victims.

  What would Puck and William think of her living quarters?

  Out of sight, out of mind, remember?

  Through the door--absolute, utter chaos greeted her. Peanut had thrown a fit. He'd shredded her couch, dismantled her kitchen table, and removed a leg from a chair reserved for special guests.

  The only thing her pet hadn't ruined was her bed, and only because she slept in a loft upstairs, and he couldn't climb the ladder.

  No sign of him inside. With a sigh, she trekked to the backyard. A fence separated her boxed vegetable garden and potted fruit trees from Peanut's barn.

  "Come out, come out, wherever you are," she called.

  Though Gillian remained a vegetarian, Peanut required meat. For his sake, she'd learned to hunt, skin and prepare meals that would keep him strong. In fact, she had a ritual. Once a week, she journeyed into the nearest forest on her own, hunted and mourned her kills--because yes, she always named the animals and envisioned a future as best friends.

  Animals were awesome; killing them affected her in a way killing people did not. Maybe because most people sucked.

  Peanut trotted out of the barn as if he hadn't a care and plopped in the shade offered by the apple tree--grown with magic--where he munched on a fallen fruit.

  Well, not all animals were awesome.

  He refused to meet her gaze, even turned his head away.

  Worse than a toddler, she thought, and stretched out beside him.

  He flicked her a glance that said, I'll allow you to pet me. Except, when she reached out to stroke the soft fur behind his ear, his glare said, But only with your gaze.

  "I missed you, Nutty Buddy."

  He humphed at her.

  "I've got to go on another trip tomorrow, and I don't know how long I'll be gone," she admitted.

  The apple fell from his mouth and rolled past her thigh.

  "Good thing you get to go with me, huh," she added, before he could erupt into another fit. "You just have to be nice to--"

  He was on his feet and licking her face before she could finish the sentence. Laughing, she nuzzled her cheek against his neck and wrapped her arms around him. "Tonight, I'll introduce
you to my husband and friend. They'll be coming with us. I'm pretty sure you'll dislike them both."

  Out of sight, but not out of mind. Accept it, deal with it.

  "Puck is magnificent but terrible, sweet but cruel, kind but unconcerned, intelligent but clueless. He might want me, he might not. With him it's difficult to tell." Either way, her body continued to want his, and she wanted...

  She just plain wanted.

  Her plan to wait for an official divorce might have been a wee bit hasty. What harm could come from using Puck and taking her pleasure--her due?

  After everything he'd put her through, he owed her.

  And whether he'd admit it or not, he wanted her, too, and not just because of the bond. He must. The way he'd jumped between her and William...caressed her... The way he'd looked at her... She'd gotten her first lingering glance!

  If she dared to encourage Puck--truly encourage him--would he dare to make a move on her?

  Well. There was only one way to find out...

  22

  Puck stayed in the shadows, observing Gillian in her natural habitat, with her pet.

  He might want me, he might not.

  Wonder no more, wife. He wants you.

  Once her pet fell asleep, she left to check on her people. Puck tracked and studied her, unwilling to spend even a moment away from her.

  Left her for weeks without a problem, now I can't leave her for a few minutes?

  Twice she stiffened, as if she knew someone watched her, but she never called him out.

  She had changed so much more than he'd realized. She walked with confidence now, her head held high. Any room she entered, she owned. Her people adored her, yes, but she adored her people right back.

  She had a big heart. Loved passionately and lived life by her own rules.

  The kitten had become a tigress.

  When one of her soldiers stopped her to ask for relationship advice, she said, "I don't have a lot of experience in this arena, or any, but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to always leave him wanting more. Unless he says something cruel. Or lies. Or hits. Then you leave him dead."

  Though she clearly had a ton of work to do around the village, she always stopped to chat with anyone who approached her. She had hugs and praise for the children, and ensured livestock and chimeras were well taken care of.

  Puck found himself oddly fascinated--and still hard. Too many times to count, he looked at her mouth and wondered how deep she could take his length.

  He needed...he didn't know what he needed. His wife out of the picture? His wife underneath him? Over him? In front of him on her hands and knees? Yes, yes. All of that. He needed his wife to moan his name, and claw his back, and beg him for--

  What are you doing? Resist her allure!

  He hated all this wanting. Hated dreading the end of his marriage when he should be eager for it.

  She was his, but not.

  Without the bond to Puck, she would crave William once again. Unless Puck addicted her to his touch. Could he?

  Yes. Absolutely. He could do anything, was known as the Undefeated for a reason. But he wouldn't addict her. He would be better served keeping his distance. There was no good reason to let his feelings intensify and complicate an already complicated situation. He could barely handle what he felt now.

  An old adage he needed to remember: Why willingly walk into a sword when you could move around it?

  *

  Gillian popped a grape into her mouth and waited for Puck to grace the feast with his exalted presence. She sat before a crackling fire pit, William at her side. Shawazons formed a circle around them, sharing platters of food, jugs of ale and goblets of water. Laughter echoed through the night, blending with a thousand different conversations and the soft thrum of music as clanswomen played handmade drums, flutes and harps. In the center of the circle, a group of dancers rocked their hips while twirling scarves with wild abandon.

  Cameron danced among them, teasing one woman in particular.

  True to his nature, he often became obsessed with a single woman for weeks at a time, sometimes months, and did everything in his power to seduce and lure. The moment he won her heart, however, the chase ended, as did his obsession. He would move on to someone else.

  This particular woman had held out longer than most, but she would cave. They always caved.

  Gillian had bathed, changed into her best leathers and plaited her hair. Not that anyone could see her hair. She wore a bold, colorful headscarf. One of her favorites, though the material was too gossamer to protect against sand and wind. She simply liked the look of it. Crystal beads hung from the upper hem, giving her bejeweled bangs.

  William had dropped to his knees the moment he'd spotted her, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. Even as she'd laughed, delighted by his antics, she'd shaken with anticipation to discover Puck's reaction.

  Where was he?

  Even Peanut had joined the feast. As predicted, he'd detested William on sight and had already peed on his boots, nipped his ass and spit in his face. To William's credit, he hadn't retaliated. Cursed up a storm, yes, but nothing more. Good thing. If he'd lashed out physically, he would have gotten the stinky boot out of camp, Puck's mission be damned.

  Mess with what's mine, pay the price.

  Dang it, why hadn't Puck shown up?

  "You're doing it again," William grumbled.

  "Doing what?" she asked, confused.

  "Watching for Puck, missing all my best moves." Not just grumbled this time, but snarled. "You don't want him, poppet. Trust me. Please. The bond is screwing with your mind, nothing more."

  "Those were your best moves? Wow. I feel sorry for you." And how had he known she desired Puck? How had he known to play on her fears about the bond? "Sorry, Liam, but you've lost your golden touch."

  Eyes hooded, he leaned toward her, seduction incarnate. "You've never known my touch." His voice deepened, and developed a husky rasp. "I have a feeling you'll like it very much..."

  Except, she remained unresponsive to him. "I remember a time you didn't want me. Not too long ago, in fact. Only a handful of weeks have passed for you. What's changed?"

  "You," he said simply.

  "I have changed, yes. And you were right, I do want Puck," she admitted.

  Rigid as steel, he opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and ground his teeth. "He will never give you what you need."

  "And what do I need, hmm?"

  "Devotion."

  "Actually, I need orgasms." A bald statement, and perfectly true. Except, a tide of longing rose inside her. Devotion sounded amazing. To trust her lover. To know he would never willingly hurt or betray her.

  A commotion to the right. Out of habit, Gillian reached for a dagger, only to still. Puck had arrived at long last.

  The rest of the world vanished as her gaze collided with his. In an instant, her blood turned molten, and her heart decided to do a hard-rock drum solo.

  So badly she yearned to reach out and stroke him.

  In the firelight, his horns appeared longer, thicker. He hadn't shaved, so a shadow of dark stubble covered his jaw. He had bathed, though. His damp hair dripped at the ends, sending water droplets careening down the ridges of his bare chest. Those droplets disappeared under the waist of his sheepskin breeches.

  He was a warrior, a man and an animal-like predator all at once, which only worsened her fascination with him.

  What did he think of her?

  He stared at her mouth as he rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip, as if he was imagining kissing her. Yes, please. Then his gaze traced over her body, lingering everywhere she ached, as if he knew how desperately she wanted his hands and lips to follow.

  Did he know? Expression devoid of emotion, he closed the distance. His hands--she sucked in a breath. His hands were balled into fists. Well, well. He wasn't as stoic as he wanted her to believe.

  I affect him.

  Silent, he sat at her side. His bicep bulged as he pluc
ked two fire-roasted squash medallions from a nearby platter, tossed one to Peanut and popped the other into his mouth. Her husband chewed, swallowed and concentrated on the dancers.

  She liked the way his jaw moved, every motion carnal.

  Shocker: Peanut sniffed him, then gently head-butted his hand, demanding to be petted. Her chimera had never accepted anyone so quickly.

  "Your demon spawn scents you on Puck," William mumbled. "There's no more to it than that."

  She tried, she tried so hard, but she couldn't remove her focus from Puck. "You do realize you ate a piece of squash, right?" Mimicking a caveman, she added, "Meat good. Vegetables bad. Remember?"

  "I eat for strength, always, even if I'm offered trash food." His attention remained on the dancers, even as his deep, husky voice stole over Gillian's skin like a caress. Did he find one of her clanswomen attractive? "Besides, everything I eat is tasteless to me."

  Though she hadn't inherited that particular disadvantage, compassion trumped her urge to dismiss the dancers. "Courtesy of Indifference?"

  He offered a single, curt nod.

  "Are your lovers tasteless, as well?" William leaned over, grabbed the last medallion of squash and popped it into his mouth. His eyes closed and he moaned, as if he'd gotten caught up in the throes of a climax. When he finished, he licked his lips and smirked. "I bet you try your very best to give a woman a mediocre experience. Well, I wouldn't worry any longer. Go ahead and consider it missionary accomplished."

  "I haven't taken a lover outside of my marriage. Perhaps I need more practice to reach your expert level of seduction," Puck said. "Tell me, Panty Melter. How many thousands of women does it take...after you've met the one you believe is your fated mate?"

  Oh, baby, the claws were out tonight. Where was popcorn when she needed it?

  And okay, excitement was probably the exact wrong reaction over another potential man-brawl. But come on! Puck just admitted he hadn't slept with anyone while they were parted.

  Strung as tight as a bow, William said, "I have never wanted to kill a man more than I want to kill you, Pucky."

  "The feeling is mutual, Randy."

  Wanting--needing--to know if sexual tension tormented Puck as fervently as it tormented her, if something she'd said or done had reached him on a primitive level, Gillian tracked her fingers along the rise of his knuckles. So soft, so warm. So perfect!

  He whipped around to face her, his eyes narrowed and glittering, his breaths coming in great heaves--the bulge behind his fly was massive. "Touch me again, and I'll press you into the sand and slam inside you."