Taken by Storm

by Anna Argent

  “Two more of mine died on the hunt. No scent was shared.”

  “Meaning you have no way of tracking her,” Kemp guessed.

  Oc frowned in confusion, causing wrinkles to form between the skin folds sagging along his brow. “Mine died before they could share the female’s scent. Mine need a scent to track.”

  Kemp sighed and trudged over the clutter to see if there were any signs of the woman inside. The intelligence unit of Force Dimas had learned that the Loriahan woman worked in this place. If she had been here every day, there had to be some trace of her left to find.

  “Hunt for her scent.”

  Oc stepped over a toppled shelf in one long stride and began sniffing the air. “There are remnants of too many beings here.”

  “She worked here. Surely you can smell her scent over those who merely passed through.”

  “I smell you.”

  Kemp gritted his teeth in frustration and backed away. Oc continued sniffing, leaning down so that the folds of skin on his face hung close to a workspace chair.

  “Four beings sit here.”

  “Can you narrow it down?”

  Oc began picking up items from the desk and bringing them to his nose. He paused over the sleeve of a sweater hanging on the back of a chair. “Old female.”

  “The Loriahan woman is not old.”

  Oc discarded the object and reached for another—a ceramic mug this time. “Male.”

  “Try again.” Kemp looked around for something that might help. There, caught in the loose joint of a chair were a few strands of hair. He pulled them free and handed them to his slave. “What about these?”

  Oc separated the strands with bulky fingers, bringing each to his nose. “Yes. Young females.”

  “How many?”

  “Two.”

  That would have to suffice. “Send those scents to the others and have them begin the hunt.”

  “Are mine to kill?” Oc asked.

  “No. They are absolutely not to kill. Bring the women back alive, or yours die.”

  Chapter Four

  The shock of the events Isa had endured had begun to wear off by the time Warrian pulled the truck up to a seemingly abandoned farmhouse. The place had seen better days, but despite the sagging roof and peeling paint, she was relieved that they’d finally gotten off the roads.

  They’d driven south for more than an hour, easing out of the edge of the storm. She didn’t know how long the ice would hold off, but she was more than grateful to no longer be slewing across the pavement.

  Warrian had done a good job of not killing them in a fiery crash, but the night was young, and she didn’t want to push her luck.

  He turned off the engine. “Are you able to walk?”

  “Of course. My legs are fine.” It was just her shoulder that was throbbing. “Where are we?”

  “Camp.”

  “Looks like a house to me.”

  He frowned like he didn’t understand her meaning.

  “There’s no tent, no RV, no bear-infested hiking trails. You know, camping.”

  “Oh no. This is one of our meeting places where we plan and coordinate our efforts to find the Taken children.”

  Isa stopped in the act of opening her door. “What children? You never said anything about involving kids.”

  “They’re all grown now. Like you.”

  Oh. Well. That was different. “How many like me are there?”

  “I saw four. There were others like you from other houses, but I don’t know how many.”

  “How many of us have you found?”

  His mouth went flat as he shook his head, making his braid sway. She had the strangest feeling once again that she’d seen that exact shade of blue ribbon before, and every time she thought about it, a sense of safety and comfort wrapped around her. She wanted to touch it, to feel the cool strands slide over her fingers. She was sure if she could do that, those tickling little memories would come back to her. Maybe if she regained whatever childhood memories she’d lost, she’d be able to make more sense out of all of this.

  As rattled as she was right now, she welcomed anything that would help, even if it was a figment of her imagination.

  “So, I’m the first, huh?” she guessed.

  “From House Loriah, yes. We will find the others, but resources are… scarce.”

  Okay. That didn’t sound great, but she wasn’t ready for more bad news, so she pretended that his words hadn’t tripped any alarms.

  “We should go inside,” he said.

  “I have a few questions first.” She should have thought to use her lie detecting power earlier, but her poor scrambled brains had only now settled enough for her to choose her course of action.

  “Of course, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  She turned in her seat enough to look him in the eyes. It wasn’t necessary for her ability to work, but if anything she asked him pissed him off, she hoped she’d see him make a move before he could hurt her. “Are you going to hurt me?”

  He looked appalled at the idea. “No, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  No metallic tang. Not the sour hint of a lie.

  “Are you going to do bad things?”

  “No, Your Imperial Majyr. Though I will stop any and all threats against you.”

  All clear. No lemon mouth.

  “Are you going to hurt anyone I care about?”

  “No, Your Imperial Majyr, so long as they do not seek to harm you.” His tone was calm, patient.

  She detected no lies.

  “Anything else?” he asked on the heels of her pause.

  “Just one more thing.”

  He bowed his head slightly. “As you please.”

  “Are you a good man?”

  He fell silent for a moment as if thinking. “I am as flawed as any man who has been to war—been given impossible choices. But I swear to you that I try to honor my station and those I serve by doing more good than harm.”

  She tasted only the truth, which was more than she got from most men on a first date. “Okay, then. I guess that’s all I can ask of anyone.”

  The heat of the truck was quickly dissipating as the wind slid by. Isa shivered, and the movement nearly made her squawk with pain.

  Her shoulder was getting worse. She could feel the swelling pushing against her bra strap and the seams of her shirt. That wasn’t a good sign. “I really hope you know what you’re doing with the whole doctor thing, because we’re a long way off from proper medical care.”

  “I allowed the damage to happen. I will repair it.”

  “You can’t repair me. I’m a person, damn it, not some machine. I’m flesh and blood and really, really freaked out by all this. What I need is some aspirin, soup, an ice pack and a big hug.”

  “A hug?” he asked, as if scandalized by the idea.

  “Yeah, you know that thing people give each other to be comforting and supportive?”

  His brows turned down in a hard frown. “I will find you aspirin soup.”

  “Ugh. Most disgusting idea ever, but thanks for trying.” She pushed the truck door open, and the movement made pain claw through her shoulder. She hadn’t finished breathing through the pain when Warrian appeared outside in front of her.

  He tugged the hood of the cloak back enough that he could look into her eyes. His expression was serious, almost stern. “You should mock me now so that you stop hurting.”

  She almost laughed, but didn’t want to risk her shoulder moving any more than necessary. “Thanks, Warrian. That’s a valiant offer, but I can’t find anything to mock at the moment. Maybe we should just go in the house and get on with the repairs.”

  “Of course, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  “And stop it with the imperial stuff. My name is Isa. Use it.”

  He bowed his head. “As you command, Isa.”

  Sheesh. The man was so serious he couldn’t even see how ridiculous it was to be treating her like some kind of queen. Hell, she couldn’t even unfasten her own
seatbelt without struggling. She was in no shape to be commanding anyone.

  She managed to undo the latch and hop down out of the truck without further pain, but realized that if she tried to walk, the long hem of the cloak was going to trip her up and land her right on her face. There was too much fabric to gather all in one hand, but she didn’t dare take it off for fear of her scent drawing more of those Dregorgs.

  Besides, she liked the way the cloak smelled. It reminded her of something she couldn’t quite place, but something clean and warm, like sunshine-scented soap. He’d said it smelled like him, but she was starting to think that no one could smell this good. Maybe they just had really nice dryer sheets wherever he came from.

  It was dark with no lights in sight, even in the house. The only glow to be had was the one coming from the cab of the truck. Warrian shut the door behind her, and that light winked out too.

  She couldn’t see anything except the faintest orange halo of Oklahoma City in the distance. And that wasn’t enough to do more than give her a frame of reference.

  “Do you have a flashlight?” she asked.

  Isa heard a quiet clap, and then brilliant gold strands of energy arched between his hands, lighting his face. Stark shadows cast his features in harsh relief, accentuating the angle of his wide jaw.

  “Nice trick. Unfortunately, I’m going to need a hand here. The cloak is too long. I don’t suppose you want to slice through this nice fabric the way you did the Dregorg’s neck.” She shivered in revulsion at the memory, making her shoulder punish her with a spike of pain. That’s what she got for being a weenie.

  “The energy I summoned to the garala this time will not cause damage. It is for light only.”

  “Good to know. Care to give me a hand inside?”

  She’d intended for him to grab one side of the cloak and lift it up enough she could walk, but instead, he picked her up.

  Golden light danced over her, sweeping around her body for a moment as the strands moved from one hand to the other. She looked at where his arm cradled the back of her knees, his fingers curled around her leg to hold her in place against his chest. Those arching filaments of light now flowed from the back of his hand where the four carved rings laced between his fingers.

  Isa wrapped her good arm around his neck and held on tight as he walked to the door of the rundown farmhouse. His hard biceps supported her back, and the warmth from his body eased into her, warding away some of the chill.

  As close to him as she was, her nose practically buried in his neck, she could tell now that the warm, clean sunlight smell she’d thought was dryer sheets wasn’t that at all. It was him, or his soap or something that hovered along his skin. She breathed it in, feeling tiny little muscles along her neck loosen.

  She laid her head on his shoulder, enjoying the sensation of not being afraid for the first time in hours. Those Dregorgs might be out there, and they might want to do horrible things to her, but right now, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  Warrian halted midstride. Her body rose and fell with each deep breath he took. She could feel his steady pulse beat in his neck, right where her fingers were wrapped.

  Isa lifted her head and stared at the side of his face. His jaw was tight, and a vein in his temple beat faster.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why did you stop?”

  His throat moved as he swallowed. “I needed a moment to remember something important. Something that continues to escape my mind.”

  “Tell me and I’ll help you remember.”

  His eyes closed slowly and stayed closed. His arms tightened slightly, pulling her higher along his chest. “It is my duty alone to remember, Your Imperial Majyr. But I thank you for your kind offer.”

  A gust of frigid air hit them hard, ruffling Isa’s blonde hair so that it tangled with his darker strands. She instinctively curled into his furnace-like heat and hid her face from the stinging bite of the wind. His wide shoulder was the perfect refuge—hard, hot and scented with delicious, manly skin and leather.

  Something brushed the top of her head. His chest expanded to monumental proportions as he sucked in a huge breath. As he let it out, he started moving again.

  Warrian pushed through the unlocked door and kicked it closed behind him. He eased her feet down on the warped hardwood floors of the living room. The trip her body took, sliding down his, was one of the most delightful journeys she’d ever had. She felt the hard heat of him, the complete and utter control he had over his strength. He wasn’t shaking or strained from hauling her around. In fact, he wasn’t even winded.

  He held her there against his body without letting go, as if he feared she might fall over. One big hand was flat against the small of her back. The other was spread between her shoulder blades, holding her in place against him. Sparks from his rings danced along her spine, tingling and weaving their way in hot little strokes across her skin. His fingers clenched slightly, making her wish she didn’t have this huge, voluminous cloak on. She wanted those hands on her bare skin again, only instead of her scalp, she wanted to know what it was like to feel his slightly rough palms graze across her arm or cheek.

  She had no idea what it was about this man that pulled her in so completely, but she couldn’t stop staring at him. His face was shadowed by her body, blocking the golden light spilling from his rings. But he looked good dipped in shadows. The hollows under his cheekbones and the bold line of his jaw were put on stark display. He wasn’t typically handsome. His features were too rough and angular for her to put such a bland title on him. His appeal went much deeper than mere looks. There was an innate strength about him. Even though he was perfectly capable of violent, immediate reaction, he possessed a patient kind of watchful stillness that seemed to be more his natural state. Even now, just standing there, he looked at her like he was absorbing every little detail, ready to spring into action should there be a need.

  His gaze was fixed on hers, and she swore she saw tiny, flickering pinpoints of light dancing in his eyes. Again.

  She blinked, hoping to puzzle it out. His gaze moved to her mouth, and just like that, she was thinking about the way his lips had felt on hers, of the lingering taste he’d left behind after breathing into her.

  Heat suffused her cheeks, and she licked her lips at the memory. If she could get just one more taste, she was sure she’d find that he wasn’t anything special—that her oxygen-deprived brain had been imagining things. No one tasted that good.

  His face had darkened, and she was sure now that she saw flickering spots of light in his eyes. She just wasn’t sure if they were really there, or if she was seeing things.

  Warrian stepped away in a rush, dropping his line of sight to the floor. “I will repair you now, Your Imperial Majyr,” he announced, his voice thick.

  He reached for a lantern on the coffee table, touching the rim of the globe. It lit up with an orangey-pink light that filled the room. A second later, the golden tendrils of light flowing between his hands were snuffed out as if they had never been.

  Isa tried to catch up to his sudden shift in mood. Gone was the dark, tempting man who made her insides turn to warm honey, and in his place was a distant, focused man on a mission.

  Her knees were still a bit wobbly from being so close to so much raw male power. Rather than show the effect he had on her, she sat on the couch, which looked surprisingly clean. There were no signs of rodent nests or suspicious stains, only worn, outdated fabric. In fact, while shabby, this whole place seemed to have been scrubbed from top to bottom.

  Piles of equipment sat in a corner by the door. Through the doorway to the kitchen, she could see canned goods lining the open shelves. The cupboard doors were gone, leaving behind dark marks where hinges had once sat, but everything inside was neat and tidy.

  There were two bedroom doorways visible from the living room, as well as a bathroom. All the windows were covered with curtains or heavy tarps so that no one could see outside. Or possibly so no one could see
in.

  Warrian checked the windows, going methodically to each one, lifting the coverings and peering out into the darkness.

  As the silence stretched out, she grew more nervous. “Were we followed?” she asked.

  “No. There is no sign of approach from any side.” He went to several small metallic disks adhered to the walls and tables and lifted a clear cover on each. “I have set the perimeter alarms. We will be warned if anyone comes close.”

  “Do you think they’ll find us?”

  He stilled in the act of toying with one of the disks. The lag in his movement was slight, but she still saw the hesitation. “No,” he said.

  The sour taste of his lie filled her mouth. “Try again. And remember this time that I know when you’re lying.”

  He didn’t look at her. In fact he was going to great pains to not look at her. “They will come after you, but the storm will slow them down. The icy rain will help mask your scent as will the cold. We should have time to repair your injury.”

  “What exactly are you going to do to me?” she asked.

  He lost some of the quiet stillness she’d come to associate with him, and in its place was a nervous sort of energy. “The garala can mend flesh and bone.”

  “Garala?”

  He held up his hands to display his rings.

  “You mean your magical rings?”

  “There is no magic in them, only a science I do not fully understand. Talan could explain it better as he is from a house of Builders.”

  “But Talan isn’t here, so give it a shot.”

  “I will send energy through your flesh, which will repair the damage.”

  “And what are the side effects of this energy?”

  His brows pulled together in confusion.

  She clarified. “What bad things can happen if I let you do this?”