by Marie Harte
Dopey from the energy he’d already consumed and trying hard to regain sobriety, Danner teetered on his feet and sought to catch his breath.
She stopped a few meters from him and stared, her gaze lingering on the small jagged scar in the shape of a bolt that bisected his left eyebrow. “Might you be Mr. Danner?” she asked, her voice low, husky, as if the lightning had aroused her too.
“Maybe.”
“Then you’re the man I’m looking for.”
“Oh?”
“I was told I might find you here in Endville. This is Endville, I presume?” She glanced around her, looking at a handful of buildings in the gathering dust pushed by another swell of godsbreath. A dozen or more blood ravens perched once again on the highest branches of the few trees in town. Watching, always watching.
“Damned storms.” Danner slapped his trousers and tried to come to grips with everything that had just happened. But the energy flowing through his body made it hard to do more than feel. “How did you come through that in one piece?” he asked, nodding back at the wreck behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder, shivered and then turned back to him with a sheen of tears in her eyes. The woman blinked back any sign of weakness in a hurry, and he had to respect her grit. That she’d walked away from the wreck behind her without falling all over herself in a panic was a definite point in her favor, especially with all the caterwauling around the train.
She bit her lower lip, and he wanted to soothe the sting with his tongue. To his surprise, she leaned closer. “Is there some place we might talk? In private, perhaps?” She spoke the King’s Own English, that arched pitch stirring his arousal all too easily, making him question her arrival as more than coincidence. How the fuck had she survived the godbolts without a scratch on her?
“Follow me.” Afraid to touch her for fear of jumping her in the middle of town, he turned on his heel and forced one foot in front of the other, back toward the pressroom. Had to be the godbolts affecting him. Not her pretty little mouth or those long, trim legs.
He had to concentrate to keep his gaze straight ahead. On his way back, he ignored everyone gaping at them, no doubt aware of the spectacle he’d just made and her fortunate escape from sure death, and walked up the stairs to the room Parker had kindly given him. He waited for the woman to enter, then closed the door behind her, effectively sealing them together. Alone. In private.
“Talk,” he growled and put the bed between them. He clenched his hands tight in a vain attempt to ignore the carnal hungers seething within. The godbolts always ramped him up, but this wasn’t normal.
“Ah, right.” The woman nervously eyed the closed door before removing her hat, and a spill of white silk fell down her back. Shiny, so bright it almost hurt his eyes, her odd hair complemented the unique violet of her eyes.
“I’m waiting.” He crossed his arms over his chest, pleased when she swallowed audibly and focused on his straining biceps. The lightning was hell on his wardrobe. The shirt clung to him in tatters, exposing more than it covered. Thankfully, his trousers remained intact.
“My name is Miranda. I need to reach the Crystal Palace.”
He blinked and said nothing.
“My cousin is being held there.” She raised a hand and tugged at a thin chain around her neck, as if calling on it for strength. “If I don’t reach her within the next fifteen and a half days, a gang of cutthroats will kill her.”
“Why me?”
“What?”
He asked again. “Why me? There are more’n a dozen guides you’d have met before hitting Endville. Hell, this town is pretty much the last decent stop between civilization and sure death.”
“But you were recommended.”
“By who?”
She licked her lips, and he followed the motion too closely for his own peace of mind.
“Olaf Anderer. He said you’d done a few favors for some friends of his a while back. He told me to mention the Carters.”
Danner sighed. The Carters had been his first referral, and the first time he’d come to feeling at peace since he’d lost his Ride. Older than dirt, Anderer had a mind that never quit. He was a supposed prophet who wandered the Western plains. For a time, Danner had wondered if one of the gods maybe masqueraded in the guise of that old man. But they’d shared a few drinks together over the years. Anderer blasphemed more than was healthy, though he had cause. He’d been cursed, born without genitals. And no god would ever take the form of a being unable to have sex. Ever.
If Anderer had spoken with the woman, he had to have seen something of worth in her. From what Danner knew, the old geezer didn’t help just anyone needing a hand.
Still…“Let me get this straight. You want me to take you to the Crystal Palace?”
She nodded, and he wondered if she’d lost her pretty little mind.
“To get there, we have to cross the Damned Plains and the Spyder Haven. On foot, mind you, since the locomotive is now a wreck.”
She nodded again.
“And if you’ve only got fifteen days to get there, we’ll have to travel fast and hope for the best.”
“Yes.”
“Did you hit your head during the accident?” He snorted. “What the hell is a gang of cutthroats doing in the Crystal Palace anyways? Last I heard, Prince Philippe claimed residence. No way the Scourge of the West would allow commoners to hang around to do his dirty work. He’d just hire assassins. And no offense, honey, but what the hell would he want with your cousin? Unless she’s the friggin’ princess of York?”
It was a well-known fact, even in the West, that Prince Philippe coveted the Eastern throne. The biggest thing standing in his way happened to be a princess as vain and pompous as himself.
Miranda didn’t speak but the expression in her eyes said volumes.
“Come on. She’s the princess of York?”
Chapter Two
Though his voice rose, the man’s expression didn’t change, and Miranda wondered just what he thought. This guide, Mr. Danner, was nothing like what she’d expected. Though his clothing seemed quite coarse, the handsome features studying her held both intelligence and a thoughtfulness she wouldn’t have expected in a Westerner. Dark hair framed a square jaw and rough-hewn features that only emphasized the storm in his silver eyes. Nothing aristocratic or regal about his sun-kissed skin. He was real. Wild, untamed, and so very appealing to a woman used to dealing with men who believed in hiding behind a veil of feigned propriety.
Then, of course, there was that blatant hunger anyone would be hard pressed to ignore. He reminded her of pictures she’d seen of a large longtooth eyeing its next meal. She shivered, realizing that if he did take her to the Crystal Palace, she’d no doubt see one or two of the great felines along the way.
“If she’s the princess of York, what does that make you?”
“A f-friend.”
“Uh-huh.” He snorted. He jammed his thumbs in his belt loops, which tugged his denim trousers down a notch. An interesting notch. The remaining scraps of his shirt revealed smooth, tanned skin and a thin trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the denim.
The minute she’d gazed upon his arresting face, she’d known there was much more to her guide than a man with an instinct to avoid trouble. The scar on his face matched the etching on her hidden pendant, as if someone had carved a lightning bolt into his flesh.
She forced herself not to clutch at the crystal’s chain. Though it would look to anyone like a tarnished silver nugget, under her palm, the crystal burned a bright indigo. Hues of purple and blue, the colors of the gods.
The large man rolled his neck and stretched his arms over his head with a groan. At that moment, the material of his shirt gave a final rip and fell to the floor. A glorious, golden expanse of firm flesh tempted her to take a step closer and touch.
She reminded herself that a woman in her position couldn’t afford to have such outrageous thoughts. But you’re no lady, Miranda Anvers. You’re nothin
g but a lowly bastard, and even less than that if you don’t rescue Clarissa, so get a grip on yourself.
“Mind if I dress?” His accent, as much as his common garb and appearance, reminded her that they came from two different worlds.
She cleared her throat. “I do apologize. I can wait outside if you wish.”
“No, hold on.” He turned from her to rummage through a large trunk by his bed. As he did so, she caught sight of his round, muscular buttocks encased in tight dungarees. Unbidden, improper thoughts assailed her.
A recollection of the moving pictures Philippe had forced her to watch suddenly took shape, this time featuring Miranda as the helpless virgin and Mr. Danner as the conquering hero who overwhelmed her trembling, naked body…
She turned away to look at anything else, mortified at the strange turn in her thoughts. As a mature woman of twenty-two years, Miranda understood her place in life. Protecting the virtue and prosperity of her selfish cousin, Clarissa. Not lusting after inappropriate men. No matter how delicious they might appear.
“All right, princess. I’m dressed, you can look now.”
Her cheeks still felt hot. “I’m not a princess, Mr. Danner.”
“It’s not mister. Just Danner.”
“That’s not proper.” No more proper than standing alone with a man in his bedroom, you ninny.
“You’re in the West now, princess.” He grinned as he buttoned up the metallic snaps of a coarse brown work shirt. “We’re a mite casual about etiquette around here. No prissy kings and queens around to tell us how to behave.”
“Do you have curfews out here?”
He laughed, a rough chuckle that dragged a feathery tickle over her belly and lower, between her legs. She’d never before felt the like. Nerves, she thought. I’m a long way from home.
“You can stay out as late as you want and do whatever makes you happy out here, darlin’.”
“Well, then. I can offer you a substantial payment, Mr…. I mean, Danner.” She looked anywhere but at his face. Calling him by his first name felt so intimate.
He stepped closer, and her heart seemed to stop. She cautiously returned her attention to his eyes.
“Seems as though I’ll be leaving Endville. I can take you past the Damned Plains.” He shrugged, but his gaze remained on hers. “But I’m not about to cross the Spyder Haven. Natural creatures I can handle. But I hate those mechanical monsters. Worse than the damned godbolts.”
She sighed. Not that she could blame him. Twenty years ago, the mechanical monstrosities had been created to help civilization. The spyders had routed those obnoxious foreigners to the North, pushing them back into the mountain region where they belonged. Then ingenious scientists had done one better and enhanced the spyders’ weaving skills, advancing loomery to such a degree that silks had come back into fashion at reasonable expense. And then Philippe had perverted the whirring, clicking creatures into his own personal pets, stolen the lot of them and relocated. Out here.
“I see.” Miranda pondered her options. Realizing she had none, she stuck out her hand, prepared to make the best of it. “We have a deal, then? Payment in turn for taking me across the Damned Plains, at least?”
He dragged his gaze from her mouth and frowned.
She swore tiny bolts of lightning flashed in his pupils, which had overtaken the haunting storms of gray in his eyes. Then she blinked, and the gray returned. She retracted the hand she still held out, feeling foolish. “Ah, I was told you’d take coin in payment.”
“Coin is fine. I take fifty up front, another forty once you’re there safe and sound.”
A rather steep trade. That didn’t fit with what she’d heard about Danner’s generosity. Of course, she hadn’t been warned to beware his natural magnetism either.
She quickly shook the awkward attraction from her mind. “Would you consider an even hundred? An extra ten for finding me a guide to survive the Spyder Haven?”
“Your hair sure is long. And soft.” He fingered a strand of it, his touch so light she wouldn’t have felt it if she hadn’t seen him do it. He let her go and his expression darkened even more.
“The Spyder Haven?” At his silence, she shook her head. “Never mind.” She didn’t want to push her luck. Every step closer to the Crystal Palace and saving Clarissa was one step closer to ending this farce of a life she was forced to lead. “Ninety coins it is, then. Shall we get started?”
Danner glanced down at the hand by her side. He looked back up at her face. His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips.
Before she could blink, he closed the distance between them and covered her mouth with his. Her eyelids closed automatically, her heart raced in her breast and the feathery tickle in her belly traveled lower, to that place between her legs she could no longer ignore.
She couldn’t form the will to protest his liberties. Callused hands cupper her cheeks and trailed down her neck to her shoulders, holding her close with a gentle firmness she wouldn’t have credited a man of his size. Then his hands traveled lower on her arms and transferred to her sensitive rib cage. Heat sizzled across her skin. She could feel him through her shirt, as if she wore nothing at all.
His lips whispered over hers, exploring and tasting but not pushing for more than she wanted to give. The shock of Danner’s palm across her taut nipples increased the ache deep within her, and she gasped at her overwhelming sense of need. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside her mouth.
The wild taste of his kiss turned her body into a crazed mass of feeling. Good gods, she’d never been touched like this.
He groaned and slanted his mouth to better overtake hers. She stroked him back with her tongue when he demanded reciprocation, and he tightened his arms around her. To her acute frustration, her body throbbed, needing something just out of reach.
Danner slid his hands to her hips and tugged her closer into the hard ridge pressing against her traitorous belly. Before she could protest the loss of his hands on her breasts, he yanked his mouth away, his breath as uneven and shaky as hers.
“Fuck.”
All she could think was that gentlemen didn’t use that kind of language. Her body hummed and her mind buzzed. What to make of that?
“Forget the coin. I’ll take you all the way to the Crystal Palace. But you’re mine for the duration.”
“Yours?” She could still taste him on her lips. The rocking, sizzling sensation of magic in the air remained all around her. In front of her. Hard against her.
“All of you, sweet.” He ground against her pelvis, as if to remind her of his state of arousal.
As if she could forget.
“B-but—” Think, Miranda! You’ve encountered blackguards before. Push him away. Resist his advances. But her body craved more.
“No one else will get you there in one piece, you fool woman. You’ll be raped and robbed and left for dead. I know jaunts over the border are all the rage right now, but this ain’t a game.”
“No, it’s not a jaunt.”
He swore under his breath. “If you’re really set on going, then we trade. Your body for my protection.” He gave a dry laugh, obviously not believing she spoke the truth. “Just think, when you get home you can tell them all about your uncivilized adventures with a real man. A Western savage.”
For all his common talk and anger, his arousal had yet to abate.
She noticed a crafty gleam in his eyes and narrowed her own. Did he really think the threat of carnal liaison would scare her away? Fat lot he knew. Miranda didn’t have a future to ruin if she didn’t find and return her miserable cousin to the throne. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she steeled her resolve. Miranda shifted her hips, deliberately grazing the bulge in his trousers, and kissed him back.
She knew she’d shocked him when he pushed her back, his eyes wide, his body hard. “Sealed with a kiss, Mr. Danner. When do we leave?”
Miranda walked slowly down the wooden steps to the chaotic street filled with people. App
arently a few individuals other than herself had survived the horrendous accident. Frantic men and a few women carried several litters of charred and moaning bodies to a smaller building down the street. The smell of burnt flesh made Miranda want to gag, and she stared across the open area to the train, in shock at so much useless death and destruction.
She felt almost guilty for surviving unscathed. Gripping the chain at her throat, she thanked the stone that had collected the godbolt and shielded her from its power. Instead of striking her dead or burning her, as the godbolt had most everyone else, the purple energy had washed over her like a soft rainstorm. Gentle pelts of warmth had penetrated her flesh and surged through her body. So tender, so soft, yet giving her a strength she knew she’d need if she was to survive the hardships no doubt in store for her.
But looking at Mr. Danner is not a hardship, is it? some naughty part of her teased.
She frowned at the thought, wishing she could put him out of her mind. The feel of his lips over hers refused to fade.
She shivered, wishing she could attribute her nerves to the train accident or even her impossible quest, not that strange tingle she’d felt from his kiss.
Trying to make sense of it all, she walked toward the overturned locomotive. As she neared a statue circled with small trinkets—left in homage, most likely—she studied the likeness to one of the gods. Did he ever heed the prayers of those who lived in a place where strength trumped lineage and ferocity held more weight than currency? She’d been praying her entire life, and no one had ever helped her or her mother out of their sorry circumstances. They’d made due by themselves as best they could.
“Hey!” The impolite shout cut through the still air.
Miranda turned to see Danner waving at her, his glorious chest now covered up by a coarse buttoned shirt. He wore a Western-style hat that shaded his face.
She didn’t want to yell back, but he seemed to have no intention of crossing the distance to meet her, and she’d already given him more than she’d intended. At least not many would witness her appalling lack of manners, as most focused either on the train or the few survivors. Everyone, it seemed, was working on the crash except for her and her new guide.
