by Ciana Stone
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Ciana Stone
Cover by Syneca Featherstone
All rights reserved.
Relentless
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Relentless Copyright © 2019 Ciana Stone
Cover art by Syneca
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Dedication:
For my honeyman – always and forever.
Chapter One
Cray County, Texas
Morgan pulled up in front of the gate at the entrance of Victor's estate. Good grief! She looked up at the mansion that towered above the trees in the distance. That's not a house, it’s a hotel.
She rolled down her window and pushed the call button on the speaker. She noticed the camera lens pointed down at her. "Yes?" A disembodied male voice came from the speaker.
"Morgan Windwalker," she said in the speaker's direction. The gate swung open smoothly and she drove through. The estate was incredible. She took her time driving up to the house, enjoying the scenery.
The main drive formed a circle which she followed to the front of the house. She parked, reached over to pick up her purse from the seat and was startled by her door suddenly swinging open.
A dark-complexioned man of medium height and build dressed in a black suit and wearing a white turban held the door for her.
Morgan slid out of the car and smiled. "Thank you." Her smile changed to a look of confusion as the man nodded and held out his hand. Not knowing what he meant, she looked down at his hand then back up at him with a question on her face.
Understanding dawned on her, making her feel slightly foolish. "Oh!" she said and handed him her keys. Without a word he nodded and got behind the wheel of the car. Morgan stood fixed in place as the car disappeared around the far side of the house. She looked up at the huge structure Victor called home and started for the entrance
The massive door swung open as she stepped up onto the smooth marble-floored entry. Framed in the doorway was Victor, smiling broadly. "Morgan," he greeted her and took her hand to pull her inside. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you," she smiled. "So, do you."
Victor laughed delightedly and tucked her hand around his arm. "Come, let me show you my home."
Morgan had never seen anything like Victor's house. There were at least a hundred rooms. She felt sure you could easily get lost in it. Everything was perfect, from the marble floors to the glittering waterfall in the entrance of the master suite. It was like something out of the pages of a magazine.
"It’s a palace." She commented as he led her outside to an enormous terrace that overlooked a glimmering pool, complete with Grecian columns and an elaborate fountain. She walked to the edge of the loggia and looked out over the pool area. "Are you some kind of king in disguise?"
Victor came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Yes," he whispered. "A very lonely king, with no one to share his palace or his life."
Morgan turned around to face him. "Lonely? How can you say that? You could have your choice of any woman in the world. There's no reason at all for you to be lonely."
"Any woman?" Victor lifted a long lock of her hair and smoothed it over her shoulder.
Morgan was taken off guard by his question and didn't really know how to respond. She looked down, pondering what to say. When she looked up, she answered honestly. "I don't know how to answer that. What do you want me to say?"
Victor paused for a long moment, put his finger underneath her chin and tilted her face up. "Say you’re starving. I've had the chef prepare something special for us."
"Yes!" She laughed, relieved and grateful he’d let her off the hook. "Actually, I am."
Morgan took Victor's arm, and he escorted her through the house to a large dining room. A massive table dominated the center of the room, placed beneath the largest chandelier she'd ever seen in her life. A buffet stretched down the entire side of one wall, laden with food and with a waiter positioned at each end.
As her gaze moved over the multitude of platters, her enthusiasm vanished. Victor looked at her strangely. "Is something wrong?"
Morgan hadn't realized she'd communicated her distaste so clearly. She wasn’t what could be called an adventurous eater and most of the dishes made her feel queasy just to look at them. She nervously cleared her throat and searched the buffet for something she could eat.
Several types of fish, along with sea snail, squid, and urchin, sat in waiting. Holding back a shudder, she surveyed the serving dishes bearing beef and pork along with every imaginable kind of poultry.
Dismay was setting in when she spotted an enormous bowl of rice, and platters of fresh fruits and vegetables at the opposite end of the buffet.
With a sense of relief, she smiled up at Victor. "Why, no, nothing's wrong. Everything looks wonderful."
Once seated, the waiters filled their wineglasses and left. Victor looked at the rice with sautéed vegetables and fruit that occupied Morgan's plate. "The food doesn’t please you," he said in a tight voice.
Morgan reached over and touched his hand. He had a grip on his wine glass like he was about to snap it in half. "Of course it does. This is wonderful. I couldn't have chosen anything better if I'd planned the menu myself."
But Victor didn't believe her. "I will have something else prepared for you," he said and started to rise.
"No!" she laughed and tugged on his hand. "Stay where you are. Please. There's no reason to be upset. I'm not a big eater and while the rest of my family are meat eaters, I’m primarily a vegetarian, so this is perfect."
Victor gave her a look she had seen many times over the years, one that said either you're joking, or you're from Mars, or something just as abnormal. "You don't eat meat? A cattle rancher who doesn’t eat beef?”
She laughed again. “I do. On rare occasions.” She’d become understanding of the reaction of people who were not used to being around vegetarians. Over the years she'd even come to find it amusing.
The rest of the dinner passed smoothly. Victor was well read and knowledgeable on a variety of subjects. Morgan found him to be an interesting and captivating man.
Quite a combination. A body to die for, face like a dream, and brains on top of all that. If only she could forget that old warning. Stay far away from Victor Vinsetti.
Victor was a little surprised at how intelligent and perceptive Morgan w
as. He’d been told she was a child genius, but he had considered that mere propaganda. Now he realized the truth of it, and found it a surprisingly enjoyable experience.
When they finished eating, Victor suggested they relax in one of the other rooms. He escorted her into a large, but cozy den. A fire burned in the big stone fireplace. The heavy drapes were pulled, shutting out the afternoon light and creating the illusion of night beyond the firelight.
"Isn't it kind of hot for a fire?" She asked.
"That's why we have air conditioning.And a fire is so much more romantic, don't you think?"
Morgan smiled and walked over to the fire. "Would you like a drink?" Victor asked from behind her.
"Just a glass of juice if you have it." She replied as she sank onto a thick soft rug placed near the hearth.
Victor returned from the bar with two glasses, handed her a glass of cold mixed fruit juices and sat beside her on the rug. He leaned back on one elbow and watched as she stared into the flames.
"Thanks," she sampled the juice then tipped it up and drank almost half. "This is wonderful." She turned the glass up, finished it, then set the empty glass on the hearth.
Without realizing the seductive picture she presented, she drew her knees up to her chest, tucking the full skirt of her peasant dress between her thighs. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she sighed contentedly.
Victor sipped his drink and silently enjoyed the view. She'd just taken the final dose of the drug. With assurances from the chemists she wouldn't require more and there would be no harmful side effects, Victor also had their promises he would have no difficulties with her once the final dose was administered. He felt sure they wouldn't lie to hi. They knew he'd make them regret it if they did.
He watched silently and reviewed the events of the day, giving the drug time to work into her system. Earlier in the morning he’d received a report of interest. The investigation was proceeding on schedule. Everything and everyone was in place. Victor smiled to himself as he thought of just how perfect his plan was and how brilliantly he was executing it.
He then turned his attention to Morgan. She had a dreamy expression on her face as she stared into the fire. He admired her beauty in the warm light. The glow of the fire painted her face in warm golden tones and the flames mirrored in her eyes. Wearing an expression of one who sees a vision meant only for her, she was oblivious to his stare.
The flickering light danced across her tawny skin and played on the dark radiance of her hair. An almost incandescent aura seemed to hover around her. The pressure of her knees pressed against her chest pushed her firm breasts up, almost spilling them free of the low-scooped neck of the dress. One shoulder was bare where the loose short sleeve had dropped down her arm. With the skirt of the dress bunched up between her knees it bared her legs to his eyes.
Victor grew warm just looking at her. She was all he wanted her to be. Now all he had to do was to claim her. He checked his watch to make sure the drug had been sufficiently absorbed, then spoke softly to her, using her command words. “Morgan, look at me.”
As if in a dream Morgan heard Victor's voice. She turned toward him, letting her legs fall to one side and supporting herself on one hip with her hand propped beside her. "What?" she asked as she looked up into his eyes.
The dreamlike quality shifted into clear, sharp-edged vision as she met his eyes. Glimmers of light danced within their depths, drawing her to him. Instinctively, she struggled against the overpowering force, even as she sank deeper into the abyss. Enticed by the spell he wove, she felt her defenses weaken and against her will, she yielded to him.
A sudden cold chill on her body snatched her back from his thrall. Compelled by a dominating force from behind, she turned and looked toward the door.
Silhouetted from behind by the light from the hall, a short man stood in the doorway. Morgan felt goosebumps pop out on her skin as she tried to make out the man's features.
"Juro!" Victor barked as he stood. "I gave explicit instructions about being disturbed, did I not?"
Morgan scrambled to her feet as the man moved into the room with a gliding step. "Please excuse the interruption." He nodded in their direction. "It is a matter of some importance."
Victor looked angrily at the smaller man before turning to Morgan. "Will you excuse me for a moment?"
"Sure." Morgan felt like she was suddenly in the middle of something she didn't understand and didn't think she wanted to. "Go ahead, I'll be fine."
"Make yourself comfortable," Victor said as he walked towards the door. "I will be back shortly."
Morgan took a step towards the couch then stopped to look in the door's direction. The man Victor identified as Juro stood watching her, his impenetrable almond-shaped black eyes drilling into her with an almost savage intensity.
For a moment they were frozen with gazes locked. He broke the contact by giving her a short nod then turned and followed Victor into the hall.
Morgan dropped on the couch. "Whoa," she murmured. That was strange. Who is that man, anyway? So hard and cold, and those black eyes that seem to see right through you.
"Eyes that see right through you?" She suddenly repeated, jumping up and looking at the door with misgivings. Eyes that see right through you.
Morgan's mind worked furiously. There was something about Juro that struck a chord inside her. Wading through the fog that seemed to have taken over her mind, she searched for a clue to her reaction to the man. Suddenly, a memory filled her inner vision.
She was nearing her thirty-fifth birthday, and it was both sad and exciting. When she was twenty, Joe and Myrtle gave her an unusual birthday gift. They introduced her to Master Hattori, a man who’d immigrated to the United States and was a revered martial arts master who’d long been friends with Joe.
He agreed to train Morgan as a favor to Joe. Over the last fifteen years, there’d been times when Morgan questioned why she continued the lessons. There were days when she left her sessions with Hattori feeling like she’d been trampled by an army. Yet, she kept going back. Maybe it was because Joe said it was important for her. Not just for disciplining her physical body but her mind as well.
Today was her final day with Master Hattori. Having completed the physical training session, she knelt on her knees on the floor before him. Morgan bowed her head to the floor before she addressed him. "Meijin," she said, using the title of highest honor.
Hattori knelt before her and looked deep into her eyes as she rose from the bow. "It is time," he said, " You have reached the moment of kaiden, the final teaching."
Morgan looked questioningly into his hard, black eyes. As always, she was unable to read Hattori. His eyes mirrored back her own reflection but revealed nothing of him. She recalled how her first impression of him was that his eyes, so dark they appeared black, seemed to see right through her. Remaining silent and attentive, she waited for his instructions.
"We will not meet again after this day," he said. "The time has come for our paths to separate. You will go on alone, and yet not alone on your path. The teachings will be with you, your constant companion."
Hattori settled himself easily into a meditative position, his voice pitched low and hypnotic. "A warrior stands alone. With the discipline of his training to support and guide him, he is apart from others. Bold but never arrogant, strong but never loud, confident but never vain. A warrior will always recognize one of his own kind. The power within the eyes can be felt, but not explained. When meeting those of his kind, the warrior is reminded these are the people who practice the arts of life and death.
"Training of the body is the warrior's first stage. Perfecting his technique and skill he tunes his senses and hones his physical body into the perfect tool.
“Yet we seek to move beyond the first stage of the warrior into the realm of the mystic warrior. To make this transition, much is required.
"One must strive for shibumi with every breath and each heartbeat. Once attaining this complete yet simple st
ate of elegance, a certain aura of perfection is added to all a warrior may do. All elements of his conduct, his technique and his life, display shibumi.
"Power stems from shibumi. Freed from the fear of failure, the warrior is unfettered in his effort to attain perfection. He wastes no time. Flaws are not permitted. He expects to die tomorrow; therefore, there is no time to spare for imperfections today.
"Aiki, united spirit, gives one access to what is thought of as a spiritual principle, allowing either domination of your opponent by harmonizing with his force and then redirecting it against him; or by employing the force to crush his will to fight.
"Mushin, what is called mind-no-mind, the state in which a warrior is aware of all things but without thought, clears the mind thus enabling the warrior to read the subtle shades of those around him. This imparts the freedom to react with uninhibited speed.
"These concepts are not new to our teachings, merely a reminder of what you have learned. You must not forget. The teachings must be a part of you, inseparable from what you are."
Hattori paused, his eyes probing deeply into Morgan's. For the first time she could ever remember, she saw a slight softening in the hardness of his eyes. Then he began again, in a low but firm voice.
"Having perfected the skills and techniques, the warrior may enter the game. The rules are simple. One must be true to his own nature; that which lies beyond the boundaries of illusion.
"The warrior must be persistent in his quest for perfection of self, always striving to defend the path of truth. With steadfast courage, the warrior honors the universal principles as he journeys the path; plays the game. He knows that insight may be found only from within.
"In ever-changing, constant motion; in flux yet remaining fixed, the game goes on, regardless of our decision to enter.
"When the moment arrives for you to make that decision, you must look deep within yourself. And be forewarned before entering the game. The inner path is fraught with dangers. Here you meet the delusions of the ego. Here you must battle the creatures of the psyche.
