Silent Warrior (13 page)

She slammed her head backward. Her skull smacked the bridge of his nose. Pain rocketed through his brain. The woman scrambled from his arms and ran. Leto shook his head. Part of him was dazed that she’d gotten the jump on him. Mostly he was amused. Where did she think she could go?

From down the short corridor that led to her cell’s gate came a female shriek. Pure frustration. She was certainly loud enough to use the sonic assaults that accompanied the berserker rages of Clan Pendray. They annoyed the fuck out of him. Shaking off a weeklong migraine was the price of victory against the Pendray—those Dragon-damned Reapers.

He took a strip of linen from beneath his chest armor and wiped his face. The gouge in his cheek was nearly a puncture. His new charge continued her tirade. High-pitched bellows echoed up the corridor.

“She-devil bitch,” he muttered to himself.

Still, he was surprisingly eager to get started.

Leto set his shoulders and lifted his chin. The Aster family ran the most powerful human crime cartel in the world. His victories over their cartel rivals—the Townsends of England and the Kawashimas of Hong Kong—had earned him many privileges. First among his family had been the right for his sister Yeta and her husband, Dallnis, to conceive a little girl. Soon, with the Dragon’s blessing, his efforts would earn protection and care for his comatose younger sister, Pell. Up in the human world where they’d made their home, Yeta and Dallnis had taken on the burden of Pell’s care for nearly a decade.

He would win the Grievance, year after year. To keep his family safe. To ensure Clan Garnis would live on.

Confidence gave him extra swagger as he strode down the sloping corridor. To begin training, he first needed to retrieve his screaming neophyte, who stood with her back against the gate made of floor-to-ceiling wrought iron. Leto had no key. He was let in and out by the Asters’ human guards. Cattle prods, Tasers, and napalm bullets kept even the most powerful Dragon King in check. The collars made it so.

Leto had never fought back. Why would he? This subterranean complex had always been his place of glory and purpose, where his father had fought. Where, in service to his loved ones, his father had died.

Decapitated by a Dragon blade.

“Stay away from me!”

“I won’t.” His words were as assured as he felt.

She darted sideways. Though slender, she was wily and surprisingly strong. But she would never be his match. He caught her around the middle. Momentum threw her onto his forearm. Again he threw her to the ground. He pinned her with his boot heel on her collar, right over her larynx.

“You’ll only hurt yourself. Save this fire. You’ll need it for the Cages.”

She cradled her elbow and glared up with pale, pale eyes—maybe blue.

“I’m to train you for your first bout in three weeks,” he continued. “Normally we’d have more time, but Old Man Aster wants you ready by then. He’ll be hosting many important people.”

He removed his boot and grabbed a fistful of hair—a honey brown shade that trailed down her back. He’d need to fix that. His actions were proof of how dangerous long hair could be in battle.

“Let go of me!”

“No.” He dragged her back to the main body of the training room. He shoved her into a crevice that had been carved by a steady trickle of water. “Wash yourself. I won’t work with garbage.”

She hissed as cold water drenched her face, sluiced down her back. The thin paper hospital gown clung to her body. Soon it would be as useless as wet tissue. He had proper armor for her to change into. Eventually. First, she needed to learn her place.

“Soap?”

Leto crossed his arms. “What was that?”

She pinched her lips into a tight, white line. That honey-colored hair darkened beneath the water’s trickle. Her arms and legs trembled. She closed into a protective ball.

If the woman didn’t ask, Leto would have a despicable chore ahead of him. On a certain level he would enjoy breaking her. Yet he craved a real opponent. She had that potential if she proved smart enough to know when to back down.

“May I have some soap?” The effort of asking contorted her features with fury.

“Perhaps.”

Slowly, he knelt before her. He’d trained enough for the Cages to know when the appearance of gentleness held greater power than aggression. She backed deeper into the crevice, but her fear was nowhere to be seen. Those pale, almost silver eyes were visible through the water dribbling down her face. Already she was cleaner. He could see more of her features.
Stubborn.
Every feature stubborn.

“I will not give much advice beyond techniques for fighting. But listen to me now: save your hostility. I am not your enemy.”

“Bullshit.”

She whipped wet hair back from her heart-shaped face. Her pointed chin was haughty, but her lips were delicate. Thin. Tremulous. As with every Dragon King, her skin was naturally tan. Hers was overlaid with a shimmering luster, like gold beneath a blazing light. Wide cheekbones were streaked with freckles, not the dirt he’d assumed. The water darkened her lashes and framed those nearly translucent eyes. Her gaze was canny. She assessed every detail, even through her fury.

Intelligence in a trainee was a twin-edged sword.

“Become a half-dead cripple for all I care,” Leto said with a shrug. “You know it takes a great deal to kill a Dragon King. But the crowd loves when combatants bleed and scream. No one mourns.”

“My son would mourn me,” she whispered.

“He already does. Dr. Aster will have told him you’re dead.”

“I was promised my son. One year more.”

One year.

He almost pitied the woman’s naiveté. She’d be lucky to stand or talk or chew after her first match. Yes, she would heal, as all Dragon Kings did, but the process was imperfect. Amputated limbs never grew back. Minds cracked into mad pieces. Scars remained. His split lip and lashed back were a testament.

He masked his pessimism and long-ago pains. This was his responsibility. He had yet to fail the Old Man. He wouldn’t let this woman destroy the respect Leto had spent years acquiring.

“Learn to fight,” he said. “Or you’ll suffer as others have.”

She shuddered. The hospital gown clung to her. She tucked her legs beneath her and crossed shaky arms across her breasts. The water let her keep few secrets. “And you’re here to teach me?”

“You would’ve saved yourself a lot of abuse had you asked that question twenty minutes ago.”

“
Bathatéi
.” The worst curse word in the language of the Dragon Kings.

Leto only laughed. “Your name. Now.”

She lashed out with a tight fist. He caught it easily, then the next one. The only weapon she had left—one she might not have realized—was the surprise of her breasts. The soaked paper gown outlined their lithe, luscious shape. Leto forced his gaze back to her face.

“Your name,” he said with growing menace. “Unless you enjoy being called lab filth.”

“My name in exchange for soap.”

He grinned. This was going to be fun.

“Agreed.”

A swallow disappeared beneath the edge of her collar. She lifted her chin. “My name is Audrey MacLaren.”

2

“Y
our real name.”

Dragon be, his calmness was irritating. He let go of her fists.

Audrey had lost feeling in her fingers and toes. The hospital gown disintegrated into little balls of paper along her shoulder.

“It is. I’m Audrey MacLaren.”

“Maybe out there with the humans. I won’t speak that dirt down here.”

“Sure, because this place is so pristine.”

“My rules.”

“You sound like my son. Petulant. Expecting to get your way.”

He stared down at her with abject condescension. “And I suppose he got his way in Aster’s lab?”

“You piece of shit!”

“Call me what you like. That won’t change your situation.”

Everything about his raw brawn and arrogant posture said fighting back would be a useless waste of energy. She was too weak with hunger and too shattered by pain to resist with more than words.

But she
did
have words.

“I was born Nynn of Clan Tigony.”

The man flinched. She’d dented his arrogant exterior. “A Tigony? In the Cages?”

“You heard me. Malnefoley, the Honorable Giva, is my cousin.”

Malnefoley was the leader of the ten-person Council that protected the Dragon Kings’ ancient traditions.

“Your origins don’t matter down here.” The man recovered as quickly from mental surprise as he did from physical attacks. “Here, we only fight for the Asters.”

She couldn’t read his eyes—eyes the rich brown of an antique book’s leather binding—but she compensated with other clues. His shoulders were not quite as relaxed. Tension had replaced the grace of his assured movements. Lines around his mouth tightened.

Just what power did he possess? If she could learn his clan, she would know. Each had particular abilities, passed down through dwindling generations. The Tigony had not inspired myths of Zeus’s lightning bolt by accident. They harnessed and concentrated kinetic energy—which wound up looking very much like an electrical storm.

But . . . her tormentor could be crossbred.

Though Audrey had been raised among the Tigony, few had let her forget her origins. Her unknown father was Pendray, one of the vicious berserkers that had inspired Norse and Celtic myths. Only Mal had forgiven her mother. Audrey’s place among the Tigony had been granted at his discretion alone.

Crossbred children could possess extraordinary—and dangerous—gifts in unique combinations. Or they could possess nothing at all. Like Audrey. She’d never been immune to the rumors and scorn.

So she’d adopted the name Audrey after hearing it in an American movie. She and Malnefoley had agreed it best that she leave their Tigony stronghold in the high, craggy mountains of Greece. She had received her education at a boarding school in the States. Money and influence had meant she’d eventually become an American.

She’d met Caleb at an innocuous college bookstore, amid used texts and supplies. Imperial Russian history—turned out they’d shared the class, rolling their eyes at their slightly insane Scottish professor. They’d wed before graduation, and she’d loved him with all her heart.

But she’d kept secrets. She was a Dragon King. Life before boarding school had been a lie. He’d married an alias.

Despite her guilt, she’d protected her new life—and had buried the pain of her exile. She would never return to either of her homes. Jack was not only her son; he was all she had.

Standing, her tormentor glared down at her. “If you move from this spot, I’ll leave you for the night. Cold. Wet. No soap, clothes, or food.”

Clothes and food. “Any other threats?”

“You’ll be confined to your cage instead of being allowed free reign of the training room.”

“This is a training room?”

“For one such as you.”

His voice was almost powerful enough to force obedience. It was low and throaty, as if wounds could speak. The collar might as well have fused with his larynx. She shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the chilly water.

He strode down the corridor. His swagger was as maddening as it was fascinating. Ridged, well-built thighs powered his body with surprising grace. His bare back was a lacework of scars. Leather straps crisscrossed below his shoulder blades to hold the chest plate in place.

Sinew. Brawn.

Another shiver.

Audrey scrubbed the paper hospital gown from her skin. Naked, she turned away from the cavelike room. Dragon be, the brute was right. She was filthy. Dirt and dead skin sloughed off beneath her palms and fingernails. Although she was frozen through to her bones, she relished the feeling of starting over.

She would stay strong and learn what she could. No one would keep her from Jack. She only prayed to the Dragon that something of her little boy would remain.

The man returned. A chunk of soap landed by her hip. She snatched it up. A scant lather was enough to finish washing her body. She glanced behind her when she was about to wash between her legs. He squatted on the balls of his feet, with his back against the opposite wall. A folded pile of fresh clothes waited by his boots.

Goosebumps shivered up her wet back. He had grabbed her between the legs. The
lonayíp
bastard.

The human laboratory guards had used her that way, when she’d been drugged and bound. Deep instinct told her this man would want her to fight back.

Turning away, she lathered her grimy hair. A year ago, she’d lived with Caleb and Jack in a sunny Manhattan condo overlooking a small park. Her bathroom had been filled with sexy indulgences. Loofas. Bath salts. Moisturizers of all scents and purposes. It seemed so ridiculous now.

The woman she’d become appreciated a scant chunk of soap. At least it wasn’t astringent, HAZMAT-level disinfectant. Her skin had toughened, like the rest of her. This soap was something almost . . . pleasant. A small change in the scheme of things, but a change she desperately needed.

“Come get your clothes.”

Of course. What man would miss the opportunity to ogle a naked woman? His demand was almost expected. She’d only waited for him to give it that rasping, broken timbre.

Clothes. Then food. Each step stretched before her like Dorothy on her way to the Emerald City. She nearly smiled. Jack had been four the first time they’d watched
The Wizard of Oz
. The flying monkeys had terrified him so badly that Caleb had traded out the DVD for
Cars
. Audrey had made popcorn. They’d let him stay up late to finish his favorite movie, but he’d fallen asleep on the couch, sprawled across Caleb’s lap. Her husband, so blond, had stroked their little boy’s wheat-pale hair.

Whatever this barbarian planned to do to her had nothing on that memory. Or the ones that followed: Caleb shot through the heart. She’d watched him die in an instant. Then had come Jack’s screams. She’d caught sight of a Dragon King in a trench coat just before a hood had blacked her vision—but none of the horror.

Good and bad memories burned until she couldn’t breathe. Bodily pain could be disconnected, like flipping a switch. But messages from her heart attacked at unexpected moments.

Even when she stood wet and naked in front of a stranger.

Still shivering, she walked toward where he knelt. Never had she been so conscious of the surgical marks left by Dr. Aster’s experiments. Some scars never healed, not even for a Dragon King.

“Are you going to give me my clothes?”

“You have no possessions.”

She gritted her molars. “May I borrow them?”

The amusement in his eyes made her want to pluck them out. He flicked his wrist. A tank top and plain women’s briefs landed on her damp toes. A strange leather outfit followed.

“Get dressed.”

“Here?”

He nodded.

Let him look. Dignity had been replaced by one instinct: survival.

“My little boy is named Jack,” she said softly, just to herself.

She focused on her words rather than the vulnerability that punched her heart against her ribs.

The pants were tough, tanned leather lined with denim and what felt like . . . silk? The shirt was made of the same odd combination. Both fit snugly but with enough room to move. Had they taken her measurements while she’d been unconscious? Dragon be, there existed so many ways to violate a human being.

But she wasn’t human. Never had been, no matter how many Pixar films and bags of popcorn and bottles of lotion. That didn’t mean she could restrain the grief filling her chest like hot sand. She needed to speak it aloud. Audrey MacLaren had been a high school art teacher, married to a marketing exec. So content, she’d taken it for granted.

Now that contentment was nothing but pain.

“Jack Robert MacLaren.” Stronger echoes touched the back wall of the training room. “He’s almost six. My husband’s name was Caleb Andrew MacLaren. He was thirty-four when he was murdered trying to defend our son. I would’ve liked the closure of attending his funeral. Instead I was strapped to a laboratory table. Dr. Aster had taunted me that no one would investigate the crimes. ‘Our family has a great deal of influence, Mrs. MacLaren.’ He always used my married name. Salt in every wound.”

“I didn’t say you could speak.”

“So stop me.”

The beastly man stood. So damn tall. Audrey was a respectable five foot eight, but he dwarfed her. “Is that a dare?”

“I’m doing what I was told. Why do you care what I talk about? I needed a distraction while you slavered over me.” The clothes were armor, like wearing a fortress. Assurance lined her bones with steel. “Did that turn you on? For a defenseless woman to shiver and beg? If I grabbed between
your
legs, you servile, brainwashed dog, would you be hard? I hope not. I hope you fondle your limp little prick tonight and cuss a blue streak because you can’t get it up.”

Massive fists bunched along his thighs. His scarred lip twitched. Eyes narrowed to slits that glittered like deep brown topaz. A heavy pulse ticked at his temples, where his serpent tattoo stopped short. Branded by the Asters.

Disgusting.

“I didn’t say you could speak.” It was no idle repetition. It was a prelude to violence.

Audrey smoothed back wet hair and met his gaze. “If the Old Man wants me here, he won’t appreciate seeing me harmed. I bet you can’t risk that,
warrior
.” She sneered the word. A warrior fought to be free, not to grovel in the dark. “So hit me, throw me back in that cage, or get me some Dragon-damned food.”