Darkness Possessed (Order of the Blade) (2 page)

She shifted her weight, trying to wiggle the numbness out of her toes after being in a crouched position for so long. Hard to believe she had once been a predator who could wait many hours for the right moment to strike. But at least she was way better at war-paint makeup now than she had been as a kid, so that was one win for the "getting older" camp. Her face was painted with dark, glittery makeup that she knew made her dark eyes look even more dangerous and mysterious than they already did. Her thick black hair was pulled back in a viciously tight bun, completely obscuring all sense of femininity.

She had to admit, she loved tying her hair up like that. Men liked long hair, and there was a certain macabre pleasure in twisting it up so tightly that no male would ever get to admire it, touch it, or otherwise get a chance to bask in it. It was hers, and hers alone. And yes, she was well aware that part of the reason she tied it up was so that no man could grab her by the hair and yank her around. A little pathetic, but true. Some lessons could never be unlearned, even after five years of safety. Better to be safe than dragged through the dirt by her hair, right?

Rhiannon ran her fingers over the dagger perched at her hip, smiling faintly at the memory of her tenth birthday when her mother had presented it to her, officially granting Rhiannon warrior status in the tribe. The blade was ten inches long, and rubies glittered in its golden handle. A faint pink glow emanated from it, and she knew it was ready. She was ready.

It was time to be the woman she hadn't been for a long, long time.

She tested her balance on the top of the fence as she studied the second floor balcony, where her target was waiting, oblivious that she was coming after him. The built-in pool glittered with blue light, and the glass sides made it easy for her to look through the water. Floating like the king of his world was the man she had come to see.

No, not see.
Hunt
.

Silently, moving with the innate grace that had never abandoned her despite living in civilization for the last five years, Rhiannon leapt gracefully off the top of the fence, landing on the soft, perfectly manicured grass without a sound. She could feel the humming of the sensors for the burglar alarm, but they didn't notice her.

She raced across the lawn, her senses on alert, but nothing in this loud, bright, overly saturated neighborhood was sensitive enough to notice a shadow drifting across their world. Exhilaration rushed through her as she skirted undetected across the yard, a feeling of power she hadn't experienced in so long. Moving even more swiftly now, she reached the house and deftly ascended the brick exterior, her fingers and toes easily finding the miniscule openings that she needed. As she broke the plane of the second floor balcony, she paused just long enough to verify that her target was still there.

Philip Wellfleet's eyes were closed, and his head was resting against the edge of the pool. Thick muscles rippled across his shoulders and down his arms, and his stomach was chiseled even at rest. He was far more masculine than any man she'd seen since she'd left the jungle. His hands were relaxed, drifting in the crystal clear water, but on his knuckles were scratches and bruises, the ones she had known she would see after meeting his wife earlier in the day. He exuded strength and danger. And more than that, he practically bled arrogance, the kind of man who felt he owned everyone in his life.

No wonder his wife was terrified of him.

Rhiannon thought back to the well-dressed woman who had slunk so furtively into the shelter earlier that day, a scarf hiding the bruises on her face. A woman who could afford a lawyer, but was too terrified to act. She'd been counseled about her options, as was every woman who came in the door, but that wasn't enough for Rhiannon. Sometimes, a woman needed more, the kind of help that was never allowed, not in this world that Rhiannon was trying so hard to fit into.

She'd long ago stopped caring about anyone or anything. She'd failed her mother's edict that it was her duty to use her powers to protect others. All she cared about was survival. One day at a time. That was all she could focus on. But the pain and vulnerability in that woman's eyes today had awoken something in Rhiannon, something dark and primal that she couldn't suppress. It had cracked open a fissure in her shields, awakening old wounds and scars that she tried so hard to keep crushed inside her.

And so she'd come, and it felt so damn good to be here.

Philip reached for his glass of champagne without even opening his eyes.
No more,
she whispered.
No more victims.

Rhiannon moved suddenly, pulling herself up over the railing. Philip sat up with surprising speed, and by the time Rhiannon had landed on the marble beside his head, he had a gun pointing at her heart, a smug look on his face.

Rhiannon froze, her heart suddenly hammering in fear. Holy cow. How had she not realized that he was awake and tracking her approach? With sudden trepidation, she became all too aware that a few extra pounds were not all that separated her from the predator she'd once been. She'd lost her edge, that mental intuition that always knew when danger was present. Fear gripped her heart. If she couldn't even out-maneuver this human, what about the real enemy? José Vasquez, the man she'd fled five years ago. An immortal warrior who had bested her even when she was in her prime? Oh,
God.
Instinctively, she looked over her shoulder, suddenly terrified that the man from her nightmares would be standing behind her, laughing smugly that she hadn't even heard him coming.

Nothing was behind her except a sliding glass door to a bedroom suite, and a potted palm wafting in the gentle breeze. José wasn't there. But she couldn't shed the sudden chill slithering down her spine, like invisible fingers stroking her as a prelude to a sudden attack.

"Well, hello, there," Philip said, jerking her attention back to him. He grinned, his steel gray eyes sliding over her body with a heated appraisal that made nausea turn in her stomach. "I don't know who you are," he said, "but you're mine now."

You're mine now.
The hated words ripped through the terror consuming her, jerking her out of her stupor. "I am not!" She lunged for him, moving faster than he could begin to conceive. His eyes widened in shock as she tore the gun out of his hand and leapt into the water. In one swift move, she straddled him and lodged her dagger against his throat.

Neither of them moved as the sound of the gun clanking against the patio below drifted up to them. The water in the designer pool sloshed over the edges, spilling across the tile. She could feel the warmth of the water through her leather pants, like a hot caress against her skin. "Let's just get one thing completely clear between us," she said, her voice low with threat. "I belong to no one."

She could feel the muscles in his sides against her calves, and she had to fight not to pull away from the sensation of a man's body against hers.
Really, Rhiannon?
After five years, she still couldn't bear the inadvertent touch of a naked man? He was her prisoner, not an assailant. Dammit. She was not going to wimp out here! Gritting her teeth and summoning her resolve, she shoved aside her fear. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and let him see her intention. She was not the victim. Not anymore.

But he didn't shrink in fear. He just grinned with the cocky arrogance of a man who had no clue exactly how powerful a woman could be. "You're here to kill me? I don't think so."

His dismissiveness of her strength made her hesitate, then anger rushed through her, fury at herself for letting his comment affect her self-confidence, even if it was only for a split second. Yes, against some she was impotent, but not against this worthless man. "It doesn't matter what you think," she snarled, unable to keep old emotions from embittering her voice. "It only matters what I think. And quite frankly, I think that I can kill you pretty easily." Which was true. He was a human, after all. See? Start small. Kick some human butt. Develop the self-confidence to tackle immortal fire-wielding warrior. A fine plan, she was pretty sure.

Not taking her gaze off him, she raised her left hand toward the lawn and asked for help. There was a low rumble as if the earth itself was stretching, and then a wind blew across the balcony. His eyes flicked to the left, and then widened.

She couldn't keep the grin of pure delight off her face as the lawn came to life. How good did it feel to connect with the plants again? It had been so long! The grass was undulating, blowing violently in the wind. The trees were bucking under the onslaught, and even the bushes were screaming with fury. With a loud roar, the vines that were decorating his patio tore from their trellises and raced up the same path that she'd climbed only moments before.

Philip screamed as the plants erupted over his balcony and swept themselves around him in a violent assault, trapping him.

With a loud hissing, they began to pull him down into the churning water.

"Stop it! Jesus! Let me go!" Philip was fighting violently, shouting for help, but she knew any assistance he summoned would come too late.

With pleased satisfaction, she watched him sliding down into the water. Reality faded, and for a moment, she no longer saw the pompous, close-shaven face of a hedge fund trader. She saw only the dark and gritty face of the man who had claimed her so long ago. It was José who was being dragged to his death beneath the water. As she watched, something hardened inside her. Her soul went numb, and she became the cold, hard warrior she had been trained to be, the one she'd had to call upon to survive her years in captivity.

Some part of her, the part of her that used to be humane, twisted and turned in resistance, rebelling against the fact that she was about to kill a man in cold blood. But empathy was so far gone from her that she felt nothing as she watched his chin sink into the water. "You beat your wife," she said softly. "You're the bad guy."

His eyes widened. "Is that what this is about? Jesus. I'll never touch her again, I swear. I love her! I will never touch her again!"

She closed her eyes at his screamed promise. His terror of impending death scraped across her bones. She felt his desperation, and she knew that this man who had lived his life never feeling fear, was terrified. He had heard her. He would live in terror of her forever, and that terror would deliver change. It had worked. She had to stop.

But she didn't want to stop. She wanted to destroy him, like how she'd wanted to destroy the man who she hadn't been able to kill. The man who had kept her captive and—

No. She couldn't think about that. Her past was over. This man was all that mattered.

She gazed down at him as his mouth and nose slipped below the surface of the water, his eyes begging for the mercy he'd never shown his own wife. She narrowed her eyes, a bitter hardness clenching around her heart as she watched him suffering...scared...trapped...his own wants and needs meaningless...feeling every emotion that he'd made his own wife suffer for so long.

"How does it feel?" she whispered, crouching lower, so her face was next to his, her chin brushing the surface of the water. "How does it feel to have no control over your body or your wants? To be at the mercy of someone who doesn't care one bit about you?
How does it feel?
"

His eyes widened, and she saw in them something else, a fear of who she was as a person, a realization that he was at the mercy of someone so messed up that there was no chance for humanity ever to prevail.

It was how she had felt for so long, how she had looked at the man who had done the same thing to her. Dammit. She wasn't José.
She wasn't like that.

She had to stop.

With an agonizing effort, she wrenched her hand down and released the plants. They fell silent at once, and the vines went limp around him, floating harmlessly in the pool, as if they were an artistic element designed to create a magical atmosphere.

He jerked upright, sitting up so his face was out of the water, sucking in oxygen with such desperation that she felt her own lungs burn with the ache she remembered too well. Red lines streaked his body, marks from where the vines had gripped him so tightly. "Who the fuck are you?"

She lowered herself further into her crouch, taking over his personal space, the dagger still against his throat. Her feet were still on either side of his hips, which brought her crotch just above his naked pelvis in an intimate position that made her want to leap up and run away. But she had to make sure his wife was safe. She had to make sure he understood.

"I protect women," she said in a low voice, letting him see the deadly intention in her eyes, just as she used to do back when she was a kid, and she'd been protecting her jungle. "I know when they need me, and I will come. You don't get two chances. Never hurt her again. Not with your hands. Not with your voice. Not with your actions." God, there were so many ways for a man to hurt a woman, especially his wife or any woman that was bound to him in that way. "Do you understand? Give her a large bank account with her own money so that she can leave whenever she wants. Give her the freedom to make her choice." That was the only thing that mattered.
Freedom to make her choice
. That was the gift she could give his wife.

Philip nodded. "Okay. I swear I'll do it."

Rhiannon leaned even closer to him. She caught a whiff of his aftershave, and something clenched in her belly when she realized that he smelled good. Dear God. How could she think a man smelled appealing? Fear struck her hard as she realized she was still vulnerable, that a man could still get to her. If this man, with whom she had no connection, who was complete scum, could make her notice his aftershave, then what about—?

No. No.
No.
José was dead.
Dead.
He wasn't coming for her. It was over.
Over.
But her breath became shallow, and she had to fight to keep herself from running...because she could never be certain that her ex-husband was actually dead.