Stephanie Rowe - Darkness Unleashed (39 page)

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 softly, 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."

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.

Either way, he had to get into his house, get his stuff, and move on. His gaze returned to the woman, and he noticed a drop of water sliding down the side of her neck, trickling over her skin like the most seductive of caresses. He swore, realizing she wasn’t going to leave. She’d freeze to death before she’d abandon her perch.

He cursed and knew he had to go to her. He couldn’t let her die on his front step. Not this woman. Not her.

He would make it fast, he would make it efficient, he would stay on target for his mission, but he would get her safe.

Keeping alert for any indication that this was a setup, Quinn stepped out of the woods and into the clearing. He’d made no sound, not even a whisper of his clothing, and yet she sensed him.

She sat up, her gaze finding him instantly in the dim light, despite his stealthy approach. They made eye contact, and the world seemed to stop for a split second. The moment he saw those silvery eyes, something thumped in his chest. Something visceral and male howled inside him, raging to be set free.

As he strode up, she unfolded herself from her cramped position and pulled herself to her feet, her gaze never leaving his. Her face was wary, her body tense, but she lifted her chin ever so slightly and set her hands on her hips, telling him that she wasn’t leaving.

Her courage and determination, held together by that tiny, shivering frame, made satisfaction thud through him. There was a warrior in that slim, exhausted body.

She said nothing as he approached, and neither of them spoke as he came to a stop in front of her.

Up close, he was riveted. Her dark eyelashes were clumped from the rain. Her skin was pale, too pale. Her face was carrying the burden of a thousand weights. But beneath that pain, those nightmares, that hell, lay delicate femininity that called to him. The luminescent glow of her skin, the sensual curve of her mouth, the sheen of rain on her cheekbones, the simple silver hoops in her ears. It awoke in him something so male, so carnal, so primal he wanted to throw her up against the wall and consume her until their bodies were melted together in single, scorching fire.

She searched his face with the same intensity raging through him, and he felt like she was tearing through his shields, cataloguing everything about him, all the way down to his soul.

He studied her carefully, and she let him, not flinching when his gaze traveled down her body. His blood pulsed as he noted the curve of her breasts under her rain-slicked jacket, the sensuous curve of her hips, and even the mud on her jeans and boots. He almost groaned at his need to palm her hips, drag her over to him, and mark her with his kiss. Loose strands of thick dark hair had escaped from her ponytail, curling around her neck and shoulders like it was clinging to her for safety.