by I. T. Lucas
Anandur reached inside his robes and pulled out two large glass containers the size of a two-liter soft drink bottle each, filled with some clear liquid. Brundar produced a large box of saltine crackers.
“What’s in the containers?”
“Holy water.” Anandur winked.
“Really?” What the hell was he talking about? What holy water?
“Just plain water, Princess. Clear, uncontaminated, chemical free, spring water.”
“Oh…can I come closer?”
“No,” both brothers said at once.
“Wait over there.” Anandur pointed a finger at where she was standing.
“Okay,” she whispered. Dalhu must’ve looked awful if even Brundar didn’t want her to see him.
Anandur lifted one of the containers over the sarcophagus and began pouring water over Dalhu’s body in a thin steady stream, careful to wet him all over. She watched, expecting him to grab the second container once the first was emptied, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled out a piece of cloth from the inside of his robe and began rubbing Dalhu’s body in circular motion.
“He’s dehydrated, like a freeze-dried piece of fruit. Once his skin absorbs the water, his systems will gradually come online until he’s able to drink on his own. I guess we could’ve used intravenous rehydration, but this is the way it has always been done.”
“What the hell? Why didn’t you?”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad, he’ll be fine. In fact, his pulse is already getting stronger.”
Amanda could’ve punched him. Why stick to some old and outdated custom when modern medicine provided a safer, easier way?
Men were such idiots.
“Brundar, check if he can drink,” Anandur instructed.
Brundar bent to reach into the sarcophagus, lifted Dalhu’s head, and brought the container to his lips. Not that she was able to see what was going on inside the box, but it was easy to guess from Brundar’s movements. What surprised her, though, was the gentleness with which the guy performed his task. She would’ve never suspected that the brutal weapons master had it in him.
“Good, keep giving him a little at a time.” Anandur kept rubbing.
Thank you, merciful fates, Dalhu was drinking on his own.
To say she felt relieved was an understatement. A massive weight had lifted off her chest.
He was okay.
A moment later his hands shot out and grabbed the container Brundar was holding. Brundar held his head up as he gulped loudly.
“Easy there, slow down, you don’t want to choke or vomit.” Anandur put pressure on the container’s other end, reducing the tilt. “That’s it, slow and steady,” he encouraged in a soft voice.
Dalhu kept drinking for what seemed like forever—until all the water was gone.
“Good job. Brundar will help you sit up, slowly, we want all of that life-giving water to stay inside, okay?” He was talking slowly and quietly, as if not to frighten a child or spook an animal.
Amanda held her breath as she waited for her first glimpse of Dalhu’s face. When she finally did, a gasp escaped her throat. His skin looked gray and dry like that of a corpse, and there were crusted lines of brown blood on his bare back. But it seemed that his injuries had healed while he’d been in stasis.
At the sound of her voice, Dalhu turned his head and smiled, his dry, chapped lips cracking.
She ran to him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her nose in the crook of his neck. The tears came next, then the sobs, and soon her whole body was quaking. She sobbed even harder when Dalhu’s once powerful arms hugged her limply.
“It’s okay, don’t cry, my love,” he rasped in her ear. “I’m fine, just a little weak, it will pass.”
Dear, merciful fates, she loved this man. Even barely alive he was comforting her, putting her needs before his—always and without fail.
“I love you,” she sobbed into his neck.
As if her words had given him strength, she felt his arms tighten around her. “Say it again,” he whispered.
Amanda lifted her head and kissed his cheek. “I love you,” she said aloud. “I love you,” she repeated even louder. “And I’m so sorry for putting you through this,” she added quietly.
“It was all worth it, and I’d do it again tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after that, just to hear you say you love me.”
There were tears in his eyes and she quickly kissed each one to hide it from the guys. “I promise to say it over and over again, so many times that you’ll grow sick of hearing it.”
He smiled, the sparkle in his eyes infusing life into his cadaverous visage. “Not going to happen, I’ll never tire of hearing the woman I love say it back to me, never.”
The sound of clapping reminded Amanda that they were not alone, and with one last kiss to Dalhu’s forehead, she retreated a step.
Anandur’s grin was so wide that his face looked like it was going to split in half. He went on clapping for a few more seconds. “This must be what true love is. Dude, you look like a corpse and stink like one too, and she kisses you and tells you she loves you. Damn.” He shook his head.
Brundar opened the box of saltines and handed Dalhu a few. “Eat, you need the carbs and the salt.”
Dalhu chewed obediently but refused more. “Help me get out of here, would you?”
The brothers assisted Dalhu, practically lifting him out, and Anandur held on while Brundar produced a folded white sheet from inside the folds of his robe, flopped it out of its square, and wrapped it around Dalhu’s naked body. He tied it like a toga so it wouldn’t unravel.
“Thank you,” Dalhu murmured.
“No problem. Can you walk?”
“Not on my own, I need your help.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Lean on me, brother.”
Wow, did Anandur just called Dalhu ‘brother’? Was it a joke?
From the expression on Dalhu’s face, he wasn’t sure either. “Thanks, you’re the man, Anandur.”
Brundar got on Dalhu’s other side and wrapped his arm around his middle. “Put your arms on our shoulders, you need to distribute your weight between us.”
Dalhu did as he was told. “I’m sorry for the stink, guys,” he said as the three of them shuffled slowly toward the exit.
“Yeah, you owe us for this, big time. I’m thinking a nude of me in full color would do. What about you, Brundar, what would make you happy?”
“To burn it?”
“What? My nude? Why? I want to hang it in our living room.”
“That’s why.”
Their banter continued as they made their way down the corridor at a snail’s pace with Dalhu’s feet dragging on the floor between them.
Walking behind the men, she felt her heart breaking at the sight of Dalhu’s poor back. A week in stasis had taken care of his wounds and even the scars were barely visible, though it was hard to tell under the layer of crusted brown blood.
“We are not going to the cell, I’m taking Dalhu up to my penthouse,” she announced.
The procession halted and both Anandur and Dalhu turned their heads to look at her.
“Kian would have our heads,” Anandur said.
“He is not here. I’ll deal with him when he returns.”
“All I need is you, a shower, and a bed. I don’t care where,” Dalhu croaked through his dried out throat.
She put her palm on his sunken cheek. “I know, my love, but I will no longer tolerate anyone doubting the value and loyalty of my fated mate.”
Dalhu nodded. “As you wish, my princess.”
She smiled. Her guy was so smart. In a matter of mere weeks, Dalhu had figured out the key to a successful marriage—the three little words every male should know and use—
As you wish.
The end… for now
Andrew’s Story Continues in
DARK WARRIOR MINE
TURN THE PAGE FOR AN EXCERPT
DARK WARRIOR MINE
Prologue
“Hi, Nathalie.” Leaning his hip against the metal door of his locker, Luke Bruoker produced his seductive smile. For her.
Walk away, the voice in her head commanded.
Shut up, Nathalie thought back.
Just do it. You know what he’s thinking.
As if she needed Tut to freaking tell her what was on Luke’s mind as he flashed her, Nutty Nattie, the perfect set of teeth that had all the other girls wetting their designer panties. With his good looks and rich daddy, Luke was one of the most popular guys in school, and for giving her the time of day, he probably expected her to fall at his feet in gratitude.
Not this girl, not going to happen, buddy.
Trying to ignore her too handsome and too full of himself locker neighbor, Nathalie stuffed the books she came to retrieve in her backpack.
But what if she was wrong? What if Luke was just being nice? And anyway, even if he wasn’t, she didn’t want to be rude.
“Hi, Luke.” Nathalie lifted the corners of her lips in a tight smile and waved goodbye.
You’re not wrong, Tut snickered. But if it’s any consolation, he thinks you’re hot.
It’s not.
Unfortunately, there was no way to hide things from the stowaway sharing her cranium space.
You’re such a liar. Tut’s laugh echoed in her head before slowly fading away.
Well, what did he expect? She was only human and couldn’t help but feel flattered.
He was such a pain, but if she were lucky, for the next few hours he’d leave her alone. Tut, or tutor, as he’d introduced himself after chasing all the other voices away, hated math class. In fact, the ghost in her head didn’t like school, or homework, or tests—which was probably the main reason she was such a good student. The only time Nathalie could be alone in her own skull was while studying.
Tut claimed to be teaching her about life.
Yeah, right, more like ruining it.
Watching TV with him was a nightmare, he wouldn’t shut up for a moment with his nonstop derisive commentary about everyone and everything. And hanging out with friends or going to the mall was more of the same.
Who was she kidding? As if anyone wanted to hang out with Nutty Nattie—the girl who talked to herself.
Nathalie pulled on the straps of her heavy backpack, hiking it higher on her back as she walked faster—pretending to rush so no one would notice that she always walked alone.
Mostly, she felt invisible. No one would look at her, except maybe for some of the nicer girls who would occasionally give her a pitying smile—as if she was retarded or deformed. The best she could hope for was to be regarded as the crazy genius. Unfortunately, even though she was smart and worked harder than most, she deserved only the first part of the title.
But at least her hard work had gotten her accepted into this overpriced private high school. Trouble was, her parents couldn’t really afford it—not even with the generous financial aid they’d been awarded—and she knew for a fact that they were dipping into their equity line to finance the difference. The school called the discount a scholarship, but it wasn’t. None of the rich kids were getting it, not even those who were excellent students.
Still, it wasn’t as if anyone was privy to that information, but it wasn’t hard to guess either. Her classmates arrived at school in Mercedes and BMWs while she drove a three-year-old Toyota Corolla hatchback.
Not that she was complaining, her car was great—the previous owner had hardly driven her, and she was almost as good as new. Besides, this was the best her parents could afford. God knew they had always given her everything they could, and probably more than they should—spoiling their only child.
When she was younger, she’d thought it was her due, but lately, it was making her feel guilty. It seemed as if by giving her all of their love, her parents were left with nothing for each other.
In fact, this morning, her mother told her that she’d filed for a divorce.
Oh, God, what is Papi going to do?
The coffee shop wasn’t making much, and they could not have been able to afford much of anything without her mother’s government pension.
How is Papi going to survive without it?
Thank God, it was her last year of high school, so at least this expense would be gone. And since she’d gotten a full ride scholarship to the University of Virginia, college wouldn’t cost her parents anything.
But savings aside, it meant that her father would be all alone once she left.
At sixty, her mother was still a knockout, while Papi, two years her junior, looked like a grandpa. It had to do with his love of baking—and eating. He was at least fifty pounds overweight and almost bald. But he was the sweetest guy. Which was probably why his business wasn’t doing so well. He had never turned away anyone who was hungry, regardless of their ability to pay.
Not fair.
The God her father believed in so earnestly should’ve smiled upon a man like him, rewarded him for his good heart and generosity. But instead, his beloved coffee shop was barely staying afloat, and his beautiful wife was leaving him.
She had a feeling that her mother had been just waiting for Nathalie to finish school and go to college to make her move. Eva hadn’t been happy for years—even when Papi had been much thinner and still had hair. She always looked troubled, almost fearful, though Nathalie couldn’t figure why.
Maybe her mother suffered from some mental disease—like Nathalie did. Though instead of hearing voices of dead people in her head, Eva might’ve been anxious or depressed.
It was about time she talked with her mother and cleared things up. She was definitely old enough for a grownup conversation. Perhaps they both could benefit from psychiatric help. And maybe, just maybe, with treatment, Eva might change her mind about leaving.
But even if she wouldn’t, to be rid of Tut, it was worth a try.
Problem was, psychiatrists were expensive.
Maybe that was why her parents had never taken her to one, even though they must’ve known that her so-called imaginary friends had been very different than those of other kids.
But Papi had said that it was harmless, nothing to worry about, and her mother had agreed. They’d cautioned her that it was okay to play pretend at home, but she shouldn’t be talking to herself in public.
Nathalie had tried.
As she had grown older, she’d realized that it wasn’t normal and that the people talking to her in her head were probably just elaborate hallucinations. A mental disorder and not ghosts. She’d stopped telling even her parents about it.
But here and there, she would forget herself and respond out loud—hence the damn nickname. Nutty Nattie.
Chapter 1: Andrew
I’ve just landed, taxiing in, I can be at your place in an hour. Andrew texted Bridget as soon as it was okay to turn cell phones on.
She answered. Waiting impatiently ( ‘}~{‘ )
It took him a few seconds to decipher the meaning.
Cute.
For an immortal, who was born God knew when, she was surprisingly well versed in current texting lingo and etiquette. Better than he was. He’d never asked Bridget how old she was, in part because he felt it was impolite, and in part because he was afraid to find out. For a forty-year-old man, it would’ve been beyond weird to know that his girlfriend was hundreds of years old.
Andrew wondered how Syssi dealt with her husband’s age. His baby sister, thirteen years his junior, had fallen in love with Kian before finding out that her Greek-god-lookalike boyfriend was so ancient.
The few clan members Andrew had gotten to know since he’d been sucked into their word ranged in age from nearly two thousand, like his new brother-in-law, to Amanda, who was over two hundred. Not to mention their mother, the goddess, who was over five thousand years old or more.
This was another lady who Andrew would never dare ask for her age. He was an adrenaline junkie, but he wasn’t stupid enough to court certain death.
After a day of endless meetings, followed by a five-hour flight from Washington back to L.A., Andrew would’ve preferred for Bridget to come over to his place. Trouble was, whatever was in the fridge had probably spoiled over the two weeks he’d been gone.
True, he could’ve ordered takeout, but there was also the issue of his bed being messy, and probably not quite fresh smelling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d changed the linens. Not that they were all the way into the gross category, but Bridget deserved better.
He’d thought about buying her a present in D.C. but eventually had given up on the idea. First of all, Bridget was loaded, just like all other clan members, and what Andrew defined as a reasonably-priced gift, she might consider trash. Secondly, he had no idea what to buy for a woman in general and for this one in particular. Dr. Bridget’s tastes gravitated toward the practical.
Except, she had a thing for red.
Damn, just thinking about those spiky red heels of hers was enough to get him hard. But it wasn’t as if he could buy her shoes. And even if he were one of those guys who could guess a woman’s shoe size, hers were probably the kind that cost over a thousand bucks—not something he could afford on his government salary.
So yeah, the only things he felt confident buying for a woman were chocolates and flowers.
But at least he wasn’t as clueless as Bhathian, who didn’t even know how to behave around one, or what to say.
The guy had been terrified of going to see the long-lost daughter Andrew had found for him. So much so that he’d asked Andrew to accompany him to her coffee shop, just so they could sit there, pretending to be customers. It hadn’t been a good feeling to bail on the guy, but Andrew had had no choice. Her place had been closed on the evening he’d delivered the news of her existence, and the next day he’d been told to pack up a suitcase and hop on a plane to Washington.
The trip had been a total waste of time. He’d spent two fucking weeks in Homeland Security headquarters—stuck in boring meetings, listening to bureaucrats who believed they knew best how to devise a plan of action that could’ve been condensed into five paragraphs on one yellow-pad page. Actually, it was exactly what he’d brought back.
