by Gaelen Foley
“You’re the one who doesn’t belong here!” he shot back in a fierce whisper, taking a large step closer. “How could you put yourself at risk this way?—and you say I’m the one that’s mad!”
“Drake, denying what you’ve been through is not going to help you get better. You’re not well! You need time to heal. Just be patient. You will get back to your full strength in time, then maybe—”
“I am back to my full strength,” he growled.
“Physically, perhaps. But we both know you’re not ready inside for any sort of mission. Come home with me. You’ve got to let me help you. You know you can trust me. Please, Drake. Let’s escape now before they come back.”
“No.”
She paused, taking a new strategy. “So, you want to send me back six hundred miles all by myself?” she asked, for she could be as ruthless as he when the occasion called. “You know how dangerous it is in these forests. Wolves. Bears. Men.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, well aware of what she was attempting.
He had killed the last man who had threatened her.
“You’d have me travel back through three war-torn countries alone? I’m out of money. I don’t speak the language.”
“It’s a wonder you made it this far alive,” he muttered. “You’ve never even been outside the shire.”
“I followed you,” she said simply, shrugging. “You and James. I thought you almost spotted me a few times.”
He lowered his gaze. “I thought I was imagining it.” Then he shook his head at her. “Why did you do this to me?”
“Not to you. For you. Because you need me.” She took his hand in hers and pulled. “Come on, we’ll talk later. We need to go right now.”
He remained planted though his fingers lightly encircled hers. “I’m sorry, Emily. No.”
“Drake, you’re not an agent anymore!” she whispered in exasperation. “The Order fears you have betrayed them!”
“Maybe I have. Did you ever think of that?”
“Don’t be absurd. If you turn yourself in, I know it’ll be all right. I’ll vouch for you. We’ll go to them together and explain that you just made a mistake, you erred in judgment, thinking you could come here and take them down alone—”
“I did not make a mistake,” he answered darkly.
Just then, the sound of male voices nearing through the woods made Emily suck in her breath.
“Come on, Drake! Please!”
“No! I am not going with you. Now get back in that bloody cave and hide right now—”
“Enough,” she cut him off, resorting to her pistol.
He arched a brow as she drew her gun and aimed it at him.
“Let’s go, now.”
“What, you’re taking me captive?”
“Come on, you idiot!” she pleaded.
He let out a low, cynical laugh. “Pull the trigger, please.” He parted the neck of his shirt, presenting the top of his chest. “You might as well. I’d rather you do it than anyone else.”
She glowered at him for calling her bluff, but grabbed him by his shirt with her other hand, prepared to drag him physically back to England if she had to. “I’ve had it with you. Come on, now!” she ordered, taking him captive at gunpoint. “Don’t give me any trouble. Walk!”
He was laughing at her.
“You’re coming with me. Blast it, Drake, I am trying to save you here!”
“What makes you think I have any desire to be saved?” He grasped her wrist where her hand clutched his shirt. “Let go of me, Emily.” He looked deep into her eyes and repeated in a meaningful whisper: “Let me go.”
“No,” she breathed, staring into his eyes as she shook her head. “Never.”
“I already told you it’s too late for me. I know what I’m doing, Emily. Now, go. You’ve got to do this for me. Nothing’s worth it if you should die.”
Her eyes welled with tears.
“Don’t cry.” He touched her face wistfully. “Don’t make a sound. Just go back to that cave and stay out of sight. They’re coming. Go on, now. I’ll get them out of here. Wait till we’re gone, then you run like hell down this mountain and go home. You’ve got to trust me. Tell the same to Max.”
Emily refused to move. “It’ll never be home again,” she choked out. “I can’t leave you here to die.”
He looked over his shoulder. “If you don’t run, you’re going to die with me. Is that what you want?”
“Maybe. It’s better than going back alone.”
He looked taken aback at her answer, but she held his stare in defiance. Did the idiot still not know how she felt about him?
“You have no idea of what you’ve yourself gotten into,” he uttered.
“I don’t care, I can’t let them hurt you again!”
“Damn it! I’m going to wring your neck for this,” he muttered, then suddenly grabbed her by her wrist and yanked her to him, taking the pistol out of her hand and tucking it into the back of his waist. A second before the Promethean guards rushed into the clearing by the stream, Drake did something he had never done before.
Something that shocked her to the marrow.
He caught her up in his arms and kissed her, claiming her mouth with unabashed, lusty intent.
She was too shocked at first even to react. After all, his mother had made it very clear to her years ago, when Emily was as an awkward fifteen-year-old, that this must never happen, or her father would be sacked.
She had done her best since then not even to let girlish daydreams of kissing him play across her mind.
Not that her efforts had always been successful.
She was old enough to know now that she wanted him and to sense that he had often stayed away precisely because he thought about it, too.
But none of her daydreams had ever pictured their first kiss happening like this, with a dozen Promethean guards rushing into the clearing and surrounding them.
Terror mingled with intoxication: Both made her knees weak. She clutched his broad shoulders to keep from falling over, tentatively following his lead.
Drake ignored the men completely and went on kissing her, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers sensuously clutching her hips while the men jeered and shouted in surprise to find them thus.
When he finally ended the brash, rather rude kiss and released her, Emily saw stars.
“False alarm, boys,” he drawled at last, sounding slightly breathless. He licked his lips and hungrily held her stunned gaze—though she noted his exasperation with her still simmering in the midnight depths of his eyes.
She could not look away, quite shocked at him and at the potent mix of fear and want pounding in her blood.
“What’s this?” one of the guards demanded in English.
“This?” Drake cast the man one of his old, devilish grins. “This is my girl.”
“Your girl?” they exclaimed in skeptical surprise.
“Aye. You boys nearly shot my favorite little servant wench. I’d have been very cross if any of you had so much as scratched her pretty bottom.” He slapped her on the arse, and Emily gasped outright.
The men exchanged wry, humorous glances.
“Your servant, Capitaine?” a leathery Frenchman questioned, as though not quite buying it.
“Oh, yes. She’s quite devoted to my comforts,” Drake said slowly, with an innuendo that roused their laughter. “Aren’t you, love?”
Emily could not manage an answer at first, blushing and tongue-tied. She knew she had better play along but was completely out of sorts and rather mortified.
Above all, she was stung by his insulting choice of terms for her—a servant wench, indeed?
The difference in their stations had long been a sore spot for her, as he knew full well, since that was obviously what had made his parents deem her unworthy of their splendid son. His pointed reminder of it now just went to show how furious he was at her for coming here. She quite believed His Lordship had just put her in her place.
“I had a feeling she might follow me. We’ve been doing this for years, haven’t we, sweeting? Ever since she was old enough to know what to do with a man. But alas, she got addicted,” he drawled, staring into her eyes. “Every time I try to set her aside, she just keeps showing up again.”
“Hmmph,” said Emily, lifting her chin, half-amused, half-outraged at his braggadocio, and well aware there was a grain of truth in it.
Indignation at his sly goading helped her find her spunk again. Very well, she could play along as brazenly as he if it meant the difference between life and death.
“If I’m the only one addicted, then why do you keeping sending for me—milord?” she countered with an arch look.
“Good question,” he murmured, staring at her in lusty approval. “You are my dirty little secret, aren’t you?”
That’s what your mother’s afraid of. She grasped the lapel of his black coat and moved closer to him. “We both know you need someone lookin’ after you.”
“And we both know what you need, as well,” he replied with an extremely wicked smile. When he ran his hands down her waist to her hips, she could not hold back a gasp; her eyes glazed over slightly.
She cursed herself for the haze of desire he cast over her, for her beloved spy was only putting on a show to deceive the others. Don’t get so excited, she told herself. This was just a ruse.
After all, it had long been established that the wild rogue Inferno Club member Lord Westwood would happily dally with any woman in England.
Except for her.
She huffed and looked away, blushing. Half of her wanted to throttle him for thwarting her perfectly sensible plan to get him out of here, while the other half wanted these onlookers to leave so the two of them could finish the game they had just started, right here on the soft forest floor.
Her pulse raced as he held her against his muscled body. No wonder the men appeared to believe their charade.
She could feel Drake’s heart pounding in response to her, as well, and the thickening swell of his nether regions against her navel.
“I was beginning to think he didn’t like women,” one of the soldiers muttered.
“No, he just likes the wrong women,” Emily tossed out with a cheeky sideward glance. “Mind your own business, anyway. I didn’t come here for you.”
“Oho! She told you!”
The men guffawed at her impertinence.
“I wish,” another opined under his breath.
She dismissed them with a queenly toss of her head while Drake watched her with a serene smile. She returned her full attention to him, running her hand up his chest in playful chiding. “As for you, sir, if you didn’t want me to come, you should’ve been more convincing in your good-bye. It was quite halfhearted, as I recall.”
Drake laughed softly and captured her chin, lifting her face to his. “Well, you’re here now, you cheeky little minx, so you might as well come in. I’m sure I can find a few uses for you when I get off duty.”
“What do you mean to do with her, Capitaine?” the weathered fellow clipped out in a businesslike tone.
“Good God, Jacques, use your imagination,” he retorted with a scoff. “And you call yourself a Frenchman.”
The others laughed.
“That’s not what I meant, as you well know,” Jacques answered impatiently. “What is Falkirk going to say about this?”
Drake shrugged, sliding his arm more snugly around Emily’s waist as he inspected her curves at closer range. “Nothing, likely. Whatever modest amenities I require for my personal comfort are of no interest to the Council.”
“Well, you had better ask him. He’s the one who pays us, not you.”
“True. But I’m the one who hired you sorry bastards. And I can get rid of you just as easily, don’t forget it. Falkirk would not have made me the head of his security if he did not trust my discretion. Besides, she won’t be any trouble, will you, sugarplum?” With an indulgent half smile, he tapped her fondly on the nose. “You promise to be a good girl for me?”
Emily managed an obliging smile, but the look in her eyes was a glare. Now you’re pushing your luck. “Aye, milord.”
“See? She’s very obedient.” He was deliberately goading her.
Just you wait.
“She’ll stay out of the way, so don’t you mind her. She’ll share my room,” Drake added. “That way she’ll be close to hand whenever I have need of her.”
Her pulse raced at the heated promise in his eyes.
But then, one of the younger soldiers made the mistake of an ill-timed jest. “Eh, I have a few tasks in mind the chit could do for me when you’re done with her, Capitaine.”
“Ja, why don’t you pass her around when you’re through?” a tall, strapping German rumbled with a grin.
All humor vanishing, Drake slowly turned to the mercenaries, his stare icy. “What did you say?”
The feckless French lad started to repeat himself, but the older, leathery Jacques held up his arm. “Shut up, Gustave.”
Gustave looked confused. “What? Ah, come, she’s just a servant.”
“My servant. My property.” Drake said something to them in French that immediately silenced their jokes and wilted their wolfish grins.
Emily did not understand the words, but Drake’s murderous snarl was that of the pack’s dominant male warning his underlings away from a choice piece of meat. His tone of voice matched the bristling tension in his body, and his hand drifted down to the weapon at his side, as if he was quite prepared to back up the verbal rebuke with any degree of violence necessary.
She had also tensed, rather frightened. She lowered her head.
“Comprenez?” he barked.
The men mumbled in assent, shrinking from the challenge.
“Good.” He returned to English so she could understand, too, and kept his arm around her shoulders, a visible declaration of his protection—and apparent ownership. “Then let’s get back to the castle. Return to your posts and stay alert. Next time, it might not be a false alarm.”
The chastened men mumbled agreement, following the second-in-command, Jacques, out of the grove.
Furtively, Emily sent her fierce protector an anxious glance. He was still in a bristling stance as he watched them walk ahead, indeed, he was watching their every move.
When he relaxed slightly, he looked down at her with an inquiry in his dark eyes. You all right?
She nodded, but then glanced toward the fortress in distress. To the castle, really? Must we?
You only have yourself to thank, his dark smirk replied, but his eyes were grim. “Come on.” He kept his arm draped across her shoulders, emphasizing his proprietary claim on her to the other soldiers, who caught up with them as they came back out onto the dusty mountain road.
Glancing around at all the armed mercenaries cowering from Drake, Emily saw no choice but to go along with the charade. He was clearly all that stood between her and an unspeakable fate.
Perhaps you should have thought of that earlier, she chided herself, her emotions in an angry tumult at this unexpected turn of events. She was furious at him for thwarting her rescue plan, and, besides that, her pride still smarted from his rude reminder of her lower status.
Well, she might be a servant, but she was nobody’s “wench.” How depressing, that after a lifetime’s daydreams, her idol had only kissed her at last for the sake of a ruse.
Her frustration climbed with every step they took up the winding road toward the Promethean stronghold. Blast it, this was not supposed to happen! She had not tracked him for hundreds of miles and crossed the Alps to join the madman in whatever game he was playing.
If it was a game.
A chill ran down her spine at the darkest possibility, the one she’d been refusing to consider.
Maybe he hadn’t come for revenge.
Dread gripped her at the thought, but could it be possible that old James Falkirk really had s
ucceeded in turning him, as Drake’s fellow agents feared?
After all the years that Drake had devoted himself to the Order, it seemed completely counter to reason. But the mind was a mysterious thing, and for a time, the wounded Earl of Westwood had forgotten everything, even who he was.
If the Prometheans could do that to him, why couldn’t they persuade him to renounce his old life and join their dark cult?
Maybe the months of torture had broken him so deeply inside that the Drake she knew and loved was truly gone, replaced by someone else, as he had tried to warn her back in England. A mindless slave with all the lethal skills of a top Order agent. Someone willing to do the enemy’s bidding without hesitation.
Someone evil.
Emily looked askance at him . . . and wondered.
Chapter 2
Very much on guard, Emily determined to keep her eyes open and her mouth shut until she had a better idea of what was going on around here, and where Drake’s loyalties actually lay at the moment.
Waldfort Castle loomed ahead, its stone bulk rising through the trees. Its mighty footprint in the mountainous terrain formed an uneven quadrangle with pointed turrets at the irregular corners.
Dark gray roofs topped timeworn walls hewn from rugged, golden brown stone. It had a center tower that was square-shaped halfway up its length, but a second cylindrical layer on top of it extended even farther skyward. The keep’s many narrow mullioned windows glittered in the sun.
Below the castle, green woods embraced the walls; behind it, white mountains, and above it, blue skies. It did not look at all like a place where sinister things could happen.
But looks could be deceiving.
As they approached the gatehouse, Emily noted the coat of arms engraved atop the barrel vault at the entrance to the bristling fortress. The hairs on her nape stood on end when she saw the torch symbol in the center of the crest—a favorite insignia of the Prometheans, as Drake had told her long ago.
Her heart thumped as she walked by his side under the spiked portcullis and through the opening in the castle’s massive outer shield wall.
Once inside the fortifications, they passed through a smaller gate in yet another defensive wall.
