Immortal Heat (The Guardians of Dacia Book 1) (3 page)

"You are in danger, Marilyn Reddlin. Leave now. . . before it's too late."

Those eyes penetrated straight through to her soul. She hoped to God he didn't know what her body was saying. Then his words and the fact he'd just addressed her by her name hit her like a bucket of icy water. She shook off the strange enchantment.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"That's my business. Now, leave Romania…tonight."

Marilyn sat stunned, fighting the commanding lilt of his voice. There was an odd, suggestive pull. She fought it but he'd already left. She hadn't seen him get up. But when she looked, he'd walked out of the restaurant into the hotel lobby towards the entrance.

A few moments later she grabbed his hand, halting him. His eyes flared up at her, and then down to where her hand had attached itself to his wrist. She stopped and realized she didn't remember how
she'd
gotten from the table to being outside, trying to stop his departure. But here she was. They stared at each other for a moment, both astounded at the circumstances.

He jerked his hand from her touch and popped the collar on his jacket, glaring at her before walking away.

You will leave.

Did she just hear his voice in her mind or had he said that aloud? His back was to her, so she wasn't sure. She shook her head to get the sound of his voice out of her senses. This was too bizarre.

Like hell I'll leave, asshole
, she thought while staring after him. Who did he think he was? Had her mother put him up to this?

Stopping dead in his tracks, he slowly turned around. Marilyn stood her ground, her hands fisted on her hips in defiance. Did she hear him curse? That was impossible, his lips hadn't moved, and they were now a parking lot away from each other.

A logistics truck pulled up through the circular entrance of the hotel, blocking her view, before driving away. When the view was clear, her mystery man had disappeared into the night, leaving only the echo of his warning behind in her head. She walked back to the dining room puzzled over the man's audacity.

She'd be damned before she turned tail and ran back home to Mama.

Chapter Two

The plane had less than fifty people on board. Not many must fly into Cluj-Napoca—or maybe not at this time of night. It was the last flight from Timisoara into Cluj for the day. Professor Vamier had reserved it to coordinate with his nocturnal schedule. He attended to other duties during the day and wouldn't be available until the evenings. He would need her help with his nightly workload as she attended his classes. Marilyn didn't mind. She would plan her day accordingly, so she could accommodate his time frame if needed. Adapting to schedules was the least of her concerns. Aiden Vamier had been generous enough, she could at least give in to his wishes.

Settling into the seat, she thought about reading for awhile. Happy nobody sat beside her, the dose of meds she took a few minutes ago would kick in soon, and she'd be able to curl up in the two seats. The overhead light instructed her to buckle the seat belt. With nails embedded into the armrests, she closed her eyes as the plane jerked forward for take-off. On an inhale of breath, Marilyn quickly went through her usual prayers in her head. It was always the same prayer, asking God to keep her safe, guide the pilot in his flight and if by some chance it was her time to die, to make it quick and painless. She never deviated from the routine, just in case it was that one time which disaster happened.

The plane leveled out as it reached altitude, and the security of knowing they were above any obstacles they could crash into helped her relax her grip on the arm rests. Opening her eyes, she gasped. Her mystery man sat right next to her in the empty aisle seat.

"What is it with you? Are you some sort of stalker?" she seethed.

"I thought I told you to leave."

"So you did."

"You didn't? Why?"

Marilyn stared at him. "I don't have to answer to you—Who are you? What do you want with me?"

"Draylon Conier. And you need to leave Romania."

Well he'd answered both of her questions. She couldn't fault him for that. Draylon Con-yea? The way he said his name made her think of velvet on satin. "Should I know you?"

It was a rhetorical question aimed at him, but he turned to face her. Even under the small cabin lights of the plane she thought she saw flames licking the sheer brilliance of his eyes.

"Should you?"

Okay, he was weird—sexy as hell, but weird. "I don't know who you are or why you want me gone, but I'm not leaving . . . and you can't make me."

That sounded juvenile but right now she didn't care.

"I've been sent to let you know you are in danger."

"In danger? From whom?"

"Vamier."

"You're crazy." She turned back to face forward, putting her book up to separate them. "Now, leave me alone. I'm not going anywhere unless you can give me some real reason."

She sensed Draylon relax beside her and he closed his eyes. His breathing turned heavy but even.

Get on the next plane out of Cluj.

Drop dead.
She turned the page in the book.

You will get on the next plane out of Cluj and leave Romania, Marilyn Reddlin.
He stood up and left the seat to head towards the back.
Besides, I couldn't die even if I wanted to.

She craned her neck around at his odd comment but got caught up in admiring the way his black jeans hugged his lean, strong thighs. So what if he was handsome as sin and built like a sex god? No man was that perfect. He was a strange guy—a would-be killer maybe? Marilyn refused to believe any of this. He was a psycho who could read minds. Or maybe she was the psycho since she thought she could read his?

#

The meds lulled her enough to relax in fetal position upon the two seats until they dipped over the Carpathian Mountains. The rocking and dipping of the plane as it hit turbulence brought her upright, clutching the armrest and squealing under her breath. She closed her eyes.

It will be all right, Marilyn.

Draylon's velvet smooth voice echoed in her head. Opening her eyes, she turned in her seat, forcing herself to look up and over the head rest enough to see further back in the plane. He was within sight, but he appeared to be asleep. His lips quirked into a semi-smile. Marilyn wondered how many hearts he'd broken with that grin. Her heart rate sped up as another dip took her stomach into a flip-flop swirl. The Caesar salad she'd eaten during her day spa threatened to come back up if they took another belly flopper.

Breathe. Relax.

She turned back around to face the front of the plane and found herself listening to his voice and doing as he told her.

That's it. Let go of the armrest.

She did.

Close your eyes.

She wanted to fight his voice. She didn't want a stranger controlling her mind. The vibration of his accent eased under her consciousness, held the power to lull her.

Am I a stranger?

Marilyn relaxed. The image of his hand caressing her face stamped itself behind her closed eyes. Lips whispered in a language she'd never heard against her ear—exotic, foreign, ancient in its guttural syllables. Like a soothing spa room set with aromatherapy and sounds of the ocean, she transformed into dreamland where she floated above the clouds in the arms of a dragon in black leather.

#

Disoriented, Marilyn lumbered off of the plane at
Cluj Avram Iancu International Airport. The few passengers on her flight maneuvered around her to reach their destination as she tried to focus on just being able to walk. Tired
, her brain registered a fuzzy mass of confusion and distorted visions.

She had her purse and knew she needed to retrieve her baggage from the luggage belt.

I must leave, she thought to herself.

She held out her passport to the official. He stamped it. She had a passport? What did the stamp say? Cluj-Napoca?

I must leave Cluj. I need to leave Romania.

But why? She was here for a purpose. She shook her head to clear it. Was she meeting someone? That's right, Professor Vamier. She should call him and let him know she arrived. But first she would get her luggage so she could find the ladies room and freshen up, call her mother before Diane Reddlin alerted the airport. Hopefully the baggage claim would be quick. There weren't many passengers around this time of night. It would be like her mother to have her paged over the public announcement system if she didn't call right away.

Suddenly propelled forward, her arm was nearly jerked from her socket, and she gasped in shock. Skidding to a halt, her assailant spun her around like a rag doll. Draylon held on to both of her arms, shaking her out of her stupor.

"Which bag is yours?"

"Let go of me," she hissed under her breath, trying in vain to shake her abductor.
I'll scream, s
he threatened.

No you won't
.

Marilyn was about to prove him wrong when his mouth clamped down on hers, stealing her breath, her scream, her will to resist. She went shock still as memories of her debacle with Daniel seeped into her brain. The pain…she hadn't been ready.

Pressed between the cold concrete pillar and the unrelenting heated solidness of Draylon Conier, fear settled into Marilyn's lungs, keeping her from breathing. He stared down at her, his brows screwed in confusion, his mouth a firm line of disgust.

He stopped what he was about to say and instead pulled her along with him.

Don't look. You're being watched.

You're full of crap. No one knows who I am…except you.

Following him, Marilyn felt like she was trapped in some James Bond movie, mistaken for someone else, except for the fact he kept referring to her by name.

Which suitcase is yours?

Scared, confused and still recovering from the meds she'd taken, all Marilyn wanted to do was crumple in a heap on the floor and sob.

His hand came up to cup her cheek. Its cool, solid strength startled her as his thumb brushed across her bottom lip.

Marilyn. Your life is in danger…that is all I know
.
I've been sent to keep you safe. Please tell me, which suitcase is yours.

"The large black, rolling case over there," she whispered aloud against the pad of his stroking thumb, pointing to the case just making the first turn.

Locking her wrist in his grasp tighter than any pair of handcuffs, he pulled her along behind him. She was about to protest when she sensed eyes on her from the few remaining passengers. A prickling sensation crawled up her spine. They approached, closing in on her. Turning around to flee, she saw a gaggle of blond groupies dressed in varying degrees of designer clothing approach. Fangs elongated as they opened their mouths, and the sound of a hundred snakes hissing erupted from them.

Draylon saw them too. She could hear his fierce hiss under his breath as he eyed them with territorial menace. Letting go of her wrist, he leapt at the leader of the group with graceful force. A sharp set of blades emerged from the cuffs of his sleeves. He tore across the face of their would-be attacker. Black blood spurted from his cheek, leaving him screaming in agony. Another leapt at them and Draylon went for his gut, shoving the blades through to the fanged creature's back.

While Draylon fought through the group, Marilyn ended up shackled in the unrelenting arms of two hissing women, their mouths opened and ready to devour her with ferocious looking fangs.

What the hell?

But before she could react, the two women dissolved into a smoking pile of ash at her feet. Frightened, Marilyn grabbed her suitcase and headed for the doors, letting Draylon handle the rest of the hissing, spitting mass of fanged-gothic humans. She needed to leave, get back to reality.

At the door, two more creatures jumped into her path. She took a step back, but they reached out and grabbed her arms only to explode like small firecrackers on the Fourth of July.

Freaked out she ran, trailing her rolling suitcase. She made it to the arrival area where only a few taxis waited to take passengers to their destination.

"Miss Reddlin?"

A young man stepped forward to greet her. His dark suit contrasted with his blond hair and silver eyes.

"Yes?" She gasped for air, catching her breath as well as her nerves.

"I'm Mr. Vamier's driver. He wished for me to pick you up."

"Oh. Thank you!" Relief flooded through her as she stepped forward to let him help her with her luggage. Their hands touched. His perfect blond features disintegrated like sand through a sieve until only grains remained at her feet.

She screamed and took a step back as the wind whipped his remains helter-skelter. A hand grabbed for her, and she squealed in fright. Draylon. He looked from her to the pile of ash at the edge of the curb near the open black tinted sedan.

Before either one could move, another group of blond haired vamps ran up the sidewalk towards them. This
had
to be some drug induced freaking nightmare. Doc Johnston would have a helluva lot of explaining to do when she called home.