Dreams of a Dark Warrior

by Kresley Cole

  Nope, nothing there whatsoever. At all. Less than nothing.

  Declan realized with a jolt of alarm that Regin's skin was as dim as it'd been last night. Surely her wound was healed for the most part by now--she moved without stiffness--but her skin remained ashen.

  What if it never returned to normal? If it's the last thing I do, I'll figure out how to fix this.

  After an initial glance, Regin didn't look at him again. No surprise, considering all he'd done to her. And that'd been before he'd revealed his scars.

  All night he'd wondered what the hell had possessed him to do that.

  She gazed around at the scenery with plain distaste. Though a carpet of firs spread out below them, the mountaintops were bare--not because of snowfall, but because the peaks were too craggy for trees to grow.

  He'd always enjoyed the desolate landscape high on the mountains, but she lived in a warm bayou town, resided at the edge of a swamp. If she hated this place now, it'd only get worse the higher they got. The rain would grow nearly constant, the wind gusting.

  She pushed a sopping braid from her face. "Another day in paradise."

  Could any female hate a man more than she does me?

  Regin's attention turned to Lothaire, who still looked affected by his nightmares. If vampires experienced others' memories as if they were reliving them, then how could Lothaire not be tortured by what he'd dreamed?

  Declan had once thought he wouldn't wish his past torment on even his worst enemy. Recalling Lothaire's bite, he decided, No, I'm good with it.

  "How are you going to keep up with us during the day?" Regin demanded of the vampire.

  "Overcast skies, superior nutrition, and my purloined army gear for cover." He tipped his wide-brimmed bush hat toward her. "And you?"

  "Isn't your girlfriend La Dorada coming for you?"

  He stilled, as if listening for her. "Not as of yet. Soon though."

  "You stay outta my way, leech, or I will go lord-of-the-flies on your ass." Again, she instinctively reached back for her swords. Swords that could never be replaced. They'd surely been buried in the facility's collapse.

  Lothaire sighed. "Regin the Eloquent."

  "Eat me." She passed them all without a glance. "Just tell me where we're heading."

  Declan said, "If you want to be on point, we're going west--"

  She unerringly turned due west and started climbing. Natalya and Thad joined her, and the three began conversing, mainly answering Thad's constant stream of questions.

  Brandr hung back with Declan, while Lothaire brought up the rear.

  In a low voice, Brandr said, "My gods, man, I've never seen you look so routed."

  "You've seen me only a handful ... ah, you mean as Aidan."

  "Hell, even when you were dying, you looked more enthusiastic than this." When Declan said nothing, Brandr bit out a curse. "Listen, it isn't over. She has feelings for you."

  "Oh, aye. Very strong ones. Hatred, for instance."

  "If that's the case, then why couldn't she kill you?"

  "She told me I didn't deserve her mercy--" Declan tensed when Lothaire closed in from behind.

  "Are we talking about the Valkyrie, Magister?"

  "Don't call me that! I'm no' one any longer." What am I now?

  He was ... nothing.

  "You're on a clock," Lothaire said. "Once she escapes this island, she will leave you behind without a second thought."

  And I'll follow. That'll be the way of things now.

  Brandr said, "After a thousand years of warring with leeches, I never thought I'd say this sentence, but ... the vampire's right. You have to win her back before we reach the boat."

  "Win her back?" Declan snapped under his breath. "I never had her to begin with!" Dead between us.

  There'd been only one night when he'd felt they had a real connection--when she'd been in his home, in his bath. She'd spun him tales so appealing that for a split second, he'd thought about freeing the miscreats she aligned with and flying her to bloody Belfast.

  At the time, it'd seemed like madness; now it looked like a missed chance.

  But, he reminded himself, there'd been no connection. It had all been an act--one designed to kill him. She might have pulled back at the last minute, but the intent had still been there. "Just save your breath."

  "You can win her," Brandr insisted.

  Declan actually held a measure of trust for the berserker. Yes, Brandr had proven himself repeatedly, but even Declan would admit there was something more. As if they'd known each other ...

  Now a thread of hope arose at the man's words. Maybe he knew enough about Regin to aid him. Aye, and maybe you're chasing the wind. "How can I?" Had he said that out loud? Fuck.

  Thad scuffed back to join them, still burdened by his pack. "So, what are we talking about?" He fell in beside Lothaire.

  The vampire said, "About how Chase can win back the Valkyrie."

  Chase cast him a killing look over his shoulder.

  "Well, men," Thad began in a solemn tone, "this sounds like a brewski moment to me."

  Declan frowned when he heard a pop-top opening. "You brought beer with you? That's what filled your pack?"

  "Regin said there's no drinking age in the Lore. And I was thinking I was going to die and all. It's not just beer, anyway. I've got condoms, cologne, toothpaste. Essentials."

  So we have no food.

  Brandr said, "Sounds like you were planning on getting laid before you die."

  "I was, until you--how'd Regin put it?--until you cockblocked me."

  That's my foulmouthed lass.

  "What can I say?" Brandr shrugged. "But by all means, pass the beers around."

  Thad handed the berserker one, then offered another to Lothaire, who merely raised his brows. "You want one, DC?" the kid asked.

  Declan stiffened. "You didn't just call me that."

  With a cheery grin, Thad handed him a warm can.

  This situation was surreal. Here he was, hiking a mountain trail at the bottom of the world with a reviled vampire enemy, a vampire lad, and a berserker.

  And this was the closest Declan had come to male bonding since he'd run with a gang back in Belfast.

  Losing my mind. Fuck it. Consider it already lost. A sunk cost. He raised his bound hands and accepted the beer.

  "Sorry it's warm."

  "How I like it," Declan said, though he could scarcely remember the last time he'd drunk alcohol of any kind.

  Thad swigged from his can. "So how far did you guys get?"

  Brandr said, "If you want my advice, Chase, you need to convince her that the old Aidan is in there. Maybe make an attempt to be more like him."

  In a disbelieving tone, Declan said, "Be more like Aidan." I can barely figure myself out ... He had no idea what or who he was, but now he was supposed to emulate someone else?

  "Start being honest with her. Aidan always let her know what he was thinking. And he fairly much treated her like a queen."

  Lothaire sneered, "That's the worst bloody advice I've ever heard!"

  Agreed.

  Brandr bowed his chest. "And why's that, leech? She cared for Aidan once--she will again."

  "Precisely. She cared for Aidan," Lothaire said. "I knew of Aidan the Fierce--no mortal could kill that many of the Horde without my hearing about it. And I know that he was a bold, blond Viking who was like a god among men. Women wanted him and men wanted to be him." He sighed. "Reminded me of myself." Then he jerked his chin at Declan. "Chase here is a coal-haired, scarred, underhanded, emotionally deficient Irishman. Who, incidentally, is loathed universally by immortals and mortals alike."

  Just lay it out there, leech. But Lothaire was right. Who was Declan to compete with Aidan--the man Regin had so clearly loved?

  Not for the first time, Declan felt a blistering hatred for the man. A jealousy that ate at him. Even if I might be Aidan. Sunk cost.

  Lothaire said, "I have a much better plan."

  "Why help him?" Tha
d asked pointedly. "When you don't help anybody else?"

  Lothaire exhaled ruefully. "Incurable romantic."

  Incurable romantic, my arse. What was Lothaire's game? What would he gain by this?

  Brandr said, "A millennia-old source of unadulterated evil dispensing relationship advice? We'll pass."

  "If he takes my advice and it doesn't work, then I'll release him from one of his vows to me."

  Declan's thoughts had been so filled with Regin, he'd forgotten how in deep he was with Lothaire--a vow for all the blood the vampire could drink and an open ended one, for anything.

  Which meant ... I'll be killin' Lothaire as soon as he stops being useful.

  Brandr shook his head. "If your advice doesn't work, Chase could drive her further away."

  "Is that even possible?" Lothaire countered. "Now, the first thing. Brandr tells her nothing, none of that greasing the wheel." Imitating Brandr's voice, Lothaire said, "Aw, Regin, he's been tortured. His life's miserable. He just wants you so badly, and psst, the poor guy's a drug addict--"

  "You do drugs, DC?" Thad was appalled.

  "Did," Declan bit out. "Past tense."

  Brandr looked like he wanted to kill Lothaire. "If I tried to grease the wheel, it's because Chase could use some help right about now. All the help he can get."

  Lothaire briefly gazed heavenward. "Chase is clearly a reluctant sharer. Which should incite her curiosity about what's going on in his head. She's a disgustingly self-righteous Valkyrie, filled with the need to fix things, to right wrongs. If anything needed fixing ..." He waved a hand to indicate Declan from head to toe. "As wrong as he can be."

  Declan remained silent, even though this reasoning seemed sound. Jaysus, Dekko, taking advice from a leech who's blackmailing you for blood?

  His jaw clenched so hard that he almost kept himself from grating, "Second thing?"

  Lothaire said, "Ignore her. Regin is accustomed to being the center of attention wherever she goes. In her circle, she's the showstopper, loud and brash compared to the silent sister she's always around. If you ignore her, Regin will grow even more curious about you."

  Ignore Regin? When even now his gaze was scope-locked on the back-and-forth swish of her hips and arse? Need hammered at him. Without those shots, lust was riding him hard.

  Brandr snapped his fingers in front of Declan's face. "Oh, yes, this is going to work like a charm."

  "No, it'll totally work!" Thad finished his beer, offering a second round. When both Declan and Brandr refused, Thad cracked open another one for himself. "I ignored Sally Ann Carruthers for an entire semester. My mom came home early one afternoon and found her waiting for me. Get this--Sally Ann was waiting naked in my bed. Mom dragged her out by her ear."

  Quirking a brow at that, Brandr asked Lothaire, "And the next part of your plan?"

  "Tonight we will all make sure she has a chance to go off by herself. Then Chase will use violence to break the ice with her."

  Declan repeated, "Violence."

  "Live by the sword, love by the sword," Lothaire said.

  Thad belched. "I got nothing on the violence. I was taught to respect women."

  "He can respect her in the morning. Or not." Then Lothaire began outlining a plan for this very night.

  With each word, Declan realized the strategy made a certain sick sense. He'd have to go out of his comfort zone, but if this plan could work ...

  Thad said, "This is definitely beyond my realm of experience. But I do have a tip, DC. My gram told me there's one thing a man always forgets to do whenever he bungles something--simply say he's sorry. Don't forget to do that." He pulled another beer from his pack. "Going to see if my girls are thirsty." He trudged ahead to join Regin and the fey.

  Brandr seemed resigned to Lothaire's plan, but added, "If this works, Chase, you still can't kiss her."

  "Because her lips drug men? Is that even true?"

  "Aidan once admitted to me that her lips were like a drug, but I don't believe he meant literally. Hell, you two were locked at the mouth most of the time. However, I do think it makes you remember your past life sooner."

  The idea of losing himself to Aidan's memories no longer sounded so bad. Especially if Declan's memories of torture, of addiction, of hurting Regin would all fade. Instead, he'd remember what it was like to be respected by his men rather than feared, to be adored by Regin rather than hated. "You truly believe in this curse?" Stranger things had happened in the Lore, but Declan had been cursed before and knew how it felt. Wouldn't he sense his impending doom now?

  "I've seen it happen too many times," Brandr said. "So no kissing her, and no berserkrage with her. And by no means can you claim her."

  Not claim her? If that Valkyrie parted her thighs and actually wanted Declan between them ...? "Boyo, understand me"--his gaze pinned Brandr's--"if I get a chance with her, I'm fuckin' takin' it."

  FORTY-THREE

  Is someone out there in the dark? Regin's ears twitched. Watching me?

  She stilled in the water of the stream she'd found not far from their camp.

  With narrowed eyes, she scanned her surroundings--a marshy plateau cradled high in the mountains. Here the stream widened into a chest-deep pool before spilling over into a waterfall.

  Her sword and her recently washed clothes were laid out on a nearby boulder, a mere lunge away.

  A second passed. Then another. Could just be the misting rain that continued to fall.

  She continued her bath, scrubbing sand over her arms in agitated swipes, fearing she might be on the verge of introspecting again.

  The unmerry band of six had traveled all afternoon and most of the night, but had decided to break till dawn. Though Regin was good to go--her chest had healed completely--Brandr, Chase, and Natalya needed to eat, were out hunting right now.

  And Thad had begun to flag. Three beers hadn't helped him. He'd grown maudlin, missing his family, friends, and school. Regin had told Natalya, "The kid needs to be drinking blood, not suds."

  The fey had replied, "Are you offering, Valkyrie?"

  No matter how much Regin liked Thad, she wasn't ready to tap a vein for any vamp. Not hating a vampire was one thing; filling an empty beer can with your blood to feed one was another. ...

  All afternoon, Chase had been ignoring her, just as he had when she'd been in that cell. Unable to stand it, she'd taken Brandr aside, demanding to know what the four males had talked about. He'd shrugged and said, "Ask Declan." She'd smacked Brandr on the back of the head and stormed off.

  But she couldn't stop thinking about Chase, about the scars he'd revealed to her. They'd looked old, which meant he must've been young when he'd gotten them--

  The memory that had tickled her consciousness the night before finally surfaced, and she recalled the picture he'd shown her of the couple who'd been eaten alive by Neoptera.

  Those curling, deliberate wounds the man and woman had suffered matched the distinctive shapes of Chase's scars. She remembered the ragged tone of his voice, the knotting of his shoulders. The way he'd pounded his fist on the desk.

  A gasp left her lips. They were his parents.

  Declan Chase's mother and father.

  Had he watched the Neos devouring his family as his own flesh was stripped?

  The couple had been middle-aged. Which meant Chase had been young when the creatures had ... had fed on him. She shoved the back of her wrist against her mouth.

  He must've barely survived. How terrified he had to have been.

  She gazed at the cloudy night sky. Yet just because she could understand his motivations didn't mean she could forgive his crimes. He might have had nothing to do with her vivisection, but he'd still tortured her, he'd still brought her and her friends to this hell-on-earth island as his prisoners.

  Had MacRieve and Carrow even made it out of the facility alive? Was that vemon Malkom Slaine out stalking the witch and her ward? Regin had faced a vemon in the past and was lucky to have escaped with her life. They were phe
nomenally strong and fast. If Slaine wanted revenge, then who could possibly protect Carrow?

  And because of Chase, Regin had been kept from Lucia. She had no idea how her sister was faring out in the world. Would Lucia be foolish--or desperate--enough to face Cruach alone?

  Regin ducked her head under the water. What would she want with Chase anyway? There was no happily ever after with him. He scorned immortals. As of yesterday, he was a jobless, homeless drug addict, with a target on his back the size of the entire Lore.

  And that was if he lived. If they didn't kiss or have sex. Otherwise he'd kick it before anyone in the Lore got a chance to off him--

  She stilled when she sensed Chase nearing. Couldn't ignore me for long, eh, Paddy? She peered over her shoulder, found him standing at the edge of the water.

  Without his cuffs. Damn it, Brandr.

  Then she frowned. Chase's mien was determined, his dark brows drawn together over his blazing gray eyes.

  Determined to do what?

  His pullover sweater and pants seemed tighter on him. As if he'd grown over the day, which made no sense--

  He grasped the bottom of that pullover to remove it. Does he think he's coming in with me?

  "Pool's taken. Run along, Chase." He didn't, so she opened her mouth to deliver a caustic chew-out. The words died on her lips when he dragged the sweater over his head, revealing his flexing torso.

  His scars seemed to be stretched flatter than when she'd seen them last night, as if his chest had grown. As she surveyed his torso, she found herself staring as much at his sculpted slabs of muscle as she was at the scars covering them.

  Rock-hard ridges descended to the low waist of his camo pants. Her gaze dipped to his flat navel, then to his goodie trail. And lower ... She swallowed. He'd begun stiffening in those pants.

  She yanked her gaze up, determined to look at anything else. Around his neck he wore dog tags, and a big, butch military watch was strapped to one brawny forearm. With the combat boots, low-slung pants, and tacticool accessories, he looked good. Even scarred, he looked better than good.

  Was he gorgeous, like the original Aidan had been? No. But he was intriguing.

  And right now, Chase looked like a man who knew what he wanted and who was on the cusp of taking it.

  Magister Chase, the man, was ... sexy.

  When he sat on a nearby boulder, pulling up one knee to unlace a boot, that eight-pack of his rippled. She watched with a reluctant fascination as he removed both boots.