A Warrior's Desire (Harlequin Nocturne)

by Pamela Palmer

  But it was that incredible mouth of hers that kept calling to him and to the hunger deep within him.

  “Does your hair always grow this fast?”

  Tarrys glanced at him from beneath long lashes and dropped her hand to brush at her slave’s gown. “I don’t know. I haven’t had hair since I was a child.”

  Simple words filled with a sadness he couldn’t begin to fathom. When she’d first joined them, he’d assumed Marceils were naturally bald. That’s the only way he’d ever seen her.

  “Did Baleris make you chop your hair?”

  Her fingers were back to playing with the dark locks and he watched as they brushed the curve of one delicate ear.

  “My first master did, not Baleris.” She dropped her hand self-consciously and met his gaze, those violet eyes sharp, if shuttered. “All Marceils are shorn when they’re enslaved.”

  “And they force you to continue to shave it?” The practice seemed barbaric. Then again, shaving her hair was nothing compared to the self-inflicted stabbing.

  “No. The power of the Esri’s control slowly causes the remaining hair to fall out.” She lifted her brows and pursed her mouth. “I didn’t know the hair could grow back. I’ve never known an unenslaved Marceil.”

  He studied her. “It’s growing fast. A lot faster here then it did in D.C.”

  “I know.” A wistful smile lit her features, making him catch his breath even as it pulled an answering smile from him.

  “That pleases you.”

  She nodded, the pleasure lingering in her eyes, lighting them like amethysts. “Of course.”

  Such a simple thing, hair. Simple and basically unimportant. Then again, he was a guy. His own hair was little more than a nuisance he had to keep remembering to cut. But she’d had it stolen from her, and he knew that was just the tip of the iceberg of what she’d lost at the hands of the Esri.

  He wanted to know, he realized. What she’d lost, what her life had been like when she wasn’t being raped or forced to stab herself. Who she was behind the strong will and those fathomless eyes.

  “Tell me something,” he said. “Anything about you or your past.”

  She glanced at him, a wariness flickering in her eyes he hadn’t seen for a while. He frowned, then realized the problem. He hadn’t asked. He’d demanded.

  And she’d spent too many years as a slave.

  He turned on his best boyish charm. “Please? You don’t have to tell me anything, Tarrys. Ever. But I’d like to know more about you.”

  She averted her face, saying nothing, and he wondered if he’d insulted her. But when she turned back to him moments later, a hint of mischief danced in her eyes, making him grin for real.

  “My people often helped the humans in the days before the gates were sealed. Did you know that?”

  “No. You mean the Marceils?”

  “Yes. They tried to make up for some of the misery the Esri caused your race. You remember us. I did a little research and discovered you remember us quite well, though in a funny kind of way.”

  Her eyes were still dancing, her luscious mouth trembling at the corners as if struggling not to smile.

  “Did we call you pixies or something?”

  Her mouth lost the battle. The smile lit her face from within, warming him in a way no smile before ever had.

  “Not pixies. These were the days before the Esri enslaved us. Marceils had hair.” She lifted her fingers to the soft tufts on her scalp. “Brown hair like mine.” She paused for effect, watching him. “The humans called us brownies.”

  Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”

  She shook her head, pleasure dancing in her eyes. “We’ve been immortalized in the human consciousness by little girls. Little Brownie Girl Scouts.”

  Charlie nodded, a funky chill making him shiver. Just when he thought he was getting used to this stuff being real…

  “My niece, Stephie, told me the story. That brownies were believed to visit at night and clean up or finish some task after the family went to bed. If the family suspected they had a brownie visitor, they’d leave food and milk in hopes he…or she…would return.”

  Her smile turned wistful. “My mother told me the same tale.” Her expression sobered. “Harrison’s daughter is a Brownie?”

  “Yeah.” The darkness rolled through him, harsh and painful. “She was. Before Baleris touched her.” She was lost to them now, her body functioning, but her mind locked up in a place no one could reach.

  God, he hated that Esri. He hated all Esri except Kade and, hopefully, Princess Ilaria. And if they didn’t find the princess and convince her to seal the gates before King Rith got his hands on the seven stones of power, life as they knew it would end. King Rith intended to tear down the walls between the worlds and enslave the human race.

  This mission of his was perhaps the most critical in the history of humanity. No way in hell was he failing it.

  But a few minutes later, his scalp began to crawl. “We’re being followed.”

  Tarrys jerked, her wide eyes meeting his gaze. “How do you know?”

  “Instinct. The same way I knew you were following me. It could be another Esri.”

  “It could be the same Esri.”

  Charlie shook his head. “It’s been two days. I would have felt him before now.”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps he has a gift that allows him to track us. Either way, it doesn’t really matter.”

  Which was all too true. With his energy flagging, either way, they were in deep trouble.

  Chapter 7

  Sweat rolled in twin beads down Tarrys’s temples as she followed Charlie up the narrow, rocky path. They’d left the forest behind some time ago, though they continued to follow the stream. The colors of the increasingly rugged terrain changed as they rose in altitude, the stones turning a more vibrant red, as if they’d been dipped in blood and sprinkled with silver. Above, the golden sky slowly turned to rust.

  Fear rode her shoulders, a continual and growing weight. Not fear for herself. No, her fear lay centered entirely upon Charlie. Not only were there a hundred dangers awaiting him in this land, but something was very wrong with him and they both knew it.

  He tried to tell her he was simply suffering from a virus, that he’d be well soon enough. But she saw his weakness growing hour by hour. And she watched the worry darken his eyes.

  What would she do if he became seriously ill? She knew nothing about human sickness and cures, and had no skills as a healer.

  Her gaze went to him now, traveling over the wide expanse of his broad shoulders, catching a glimpse of his strong profile. Even exhausted and ill, his keen gaze searched for danger every minute of every hour of every day. He was so strong, so capable. A warrior, through and through. But human bodies were inherently fragile.

  The thought of such a man being forced to succumb to illness, to a foe he couldn’t fight, made her ache almost as much as the thought of losing him.

  And the thought of losing him was nearly more than she could bear.

  She loved him. Charlie Rand was a good man, a warrior, through and through, ready to fight to protect others. He would kill, and had killed, but not without reason. She believed that.

  War was not the way of Esria. Not the human kind of wars, at least. The last true battle had been fought three hundred years ago when Rith captured the queen, princess Ilaria’s mother. He was strong, but, it was rumored, not strong enough to take her fairly. So he’d ordered one of his followers to destroy her with the death curse. Of course, the follower was subsequently killed for having ended another Esri’s life, even though he’d been acting under orders. But such was the way of royal successions.

  Charlie stopped as they reached a level stretch of path and leaned against one of the red rocks, perspiration damp on his brow, his skin several shades too pale.

  He swayed on his feet and Tarrys’s heart tripped. She looped her arm around his waist. “You need to rest again.”

  “I�
��m okay.” But he sank to his knees, making a lie of his words. “No. I’m not. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He lay down awkwardly on a sprouting blanket of pink flowers as if he’d lost all his strength. “Half an hour. No more.”

  Tarrys knelt beside him and pulled the bow and quiver off his back, laying them beside him so he could rest more comfortably. Hesitantly, she laid her hand against his forehead as she’d seen Aunt Myrtle do once. She’d heard that human skin grew hot to the touch when a human sickened, but there was no unnatural heat in Charlie’s skin. Her gaze caressed his face, flowing over his light brown eyebrows to his closed eyelids and down to his strong, warrior’s mouth. As she watched, his lips parted on a low sound that told her he slept.

  She stayed there beside him until his color began to return. Perhaps his body simply needed time to adjust to her world. With a soft stroke to his hair, she rose and retraced their path a short way back, placing herself firmly between Charlie and those who followed them.

  Climbing onto a large, flat rock, she sat cross-legged to wait. A half an hour, he’d said. And how was she to know when a half hour had passed? If he was sick, he needed to sleep. She knew that much.

  Minutes later, she heard the soft pad of feet behind her and turned. “I thought you’d sleep longer....” Her voice trailed off, her heart shooting to her throat. It wasn’t Charlie behind her as she’d thought. It was the Esri. The one in the blue tunic who’d watched her so covetously as he’d punished his own slave.

  Triumph shone in his cruel eyes.

  Tarrys leaped to her feet, her heart pounding in her ears, her mouth dry as sand. How had he gotten past her?

  Her gaze shot to the spot on the path above her where Charlie still slept, seemingly untouched. She must keep the Esri from seeing him. But as she whirled to jump down from the ledge, to lead him away, a second Esri appeared below, his pale hair glowing like copper beneath the russet sky, a lust-filled smile on his face and a hard promise in his pink eyes.

  Her days of freedom were over.

  Chapter 8

  Charlie woke to the sound of a scream.

  He was on his feet before he was fully awake, his brain scrambling to catch up. One glance at the disappearing flowers beneath his feet did the trick. Esria. Check.

  “No!” Tarrys’s furious voice was laced with a terror that chilled his blood.

  He saw her below, surrounded by two Esri, one of which he recognized all too well. Dammit. Tarrys was trying to dodge the bastards’ grasping hands, but she was too small, her robe too large and unwieldy to allow her quick movement, despite her agility. As Charlie ran down the path to reach her, the bastard in the blue tunic rushed her and clamped his hand around the back of her neck. Instantly, Tarrys stilled, her face a mask of misery and defeat.

  Her captor grinned with satisfaction, his teeth gleaming white as he released her. Tarrys didn’t run. Instead, with quick desperate motions, she tossed her bow and quiver on the ground, untied her purple sash, then lifted her gown over her head—the only scrap of clothing she wore—and dropped it. As she stood naked but for the band of holly, which clearly hadn’t worked, the Esri reached for the ties of his pants.

  Charlie’s gut tightened, fury roaring in his ears. The bastard had enslaved her with that touch, probably mentally ordering her to undress and she’d been helpless to disobey.

  He would rape her and she’d let him, unable to fight.

  Like hell.

  Charlie leaped onto the open rock and launched himself at the son of a bitch, tackling him to the ground. The Esri didn’t fight the attack, but the moment they hit the rock, he slapped his palm over Charlie’s hand. Pain shot through his body of such a ferocity that his vision went white. Jesus.

  He struggled to free himself, prying the Esri’s hand off his. The moment he could move, he retaliated, plowing his fist through the Esri’s pale face three times before he realized the Esri wasn’t struggling. Was, in fact, watching him with keen interest.

  Warning bells went off in his head, Kade’s advice flashing through his mind. Act the aggressor. He’d done that in spades, but not in the calm, barbaric manner Kade had recommended—breaking bones. Just by the color of his skin and hair, they knew he had human blood. The key was making sure they didn’t know exactly how much.

  Charlie got to his feet and backed away from the Esri and that hand of his, then glared at the two men.

  “She’s mine!” he growled.

  The man he’d attacked rose to his feet with an ease that mocked Charlie’s attack, his eyes glittering with speculation. “Not anymore. You didn’t enslaved her. I have.”

  “Look at his hand,” said the second Esri.

  With a sinking certainty, Charlie knew what they were looking at. He could feel the sting of a split knuckle and the dampness of blood running down his finger.

  “Human,” the first man intoned as a malicious smile crossed his face. “And a Sitheen, at that, or my touch would not have caused him pain, but enchanted him. Catch him.”

  Hell.

  “Charlie, run!” Tarrys cried.

  If the men had been human, he could have taken them. But they were immortal. He could knock them down all night and day and they’d just keep popping back up for more. Running was never his favorite course of action, but there were times when retreat was the best option. The only option.

  Like now.

  He dove for Tarrys, bending low as he grabbed her gown and weapons with one hand and slung her over his shoulder with his other. The Esri shouted, but couldn’t move fast enough. Charlie tore back between them, up the path, running for his life. For both their lives.

  Adrenaline rushed through his system, lending him strength and speed. He felt good again, strong and rested, even though he was certain he hadn’t slept long.

  Tarrys squirmed against his shoulder, her bare feet kicking his hipbone, her small fists pummeling his buttocks. His hand gripped her bare thighs tighter against him.

  “Settle down, eaglet. I’ve got you… Umph,” he groaned as she kneed him in the chest.

  “I can’t stop! I can’t control it.” Her warm, round hip pressed against his cheek, filling his nostrils with the intoxicating scent of woman. “When he touched me, he claimed me as his slave. His mark calls me to him, now, and will always do so. My body is trying to get back to him.”

  Charlie heard her words, his logical mind longing to deny that any such thing was possible, but he knew too well how completely Tarrys could be controlled. And, dammit, that was the last thing they needed. A yell of frustration lodged in his throat. If he set her down, she’d run straight into the arms of the enemy. As he ran, his legs eating up the path with hard, fast strides, a dismal thought occurred to him.

  “Can I trust what you say or does he control your words, too?”

  “He can’t control my mind like he can a human’s. A true human’s. And he can only control my speech if he thinks to do it. He didn’t this time. His only thought was for my body.”

  At her words, a vision of her standing naked flashed in his mind—her perfect form, her breasts high and full, her waist slender, her hips gently flared. Even her legs had appeared long and shapely simply because she was so perfectly proportioned, as if he’d specially ordered a leggy brunette, size small.

  “Are they following?” he asked.

  “Yes. But your speed is faster.”

  But for how long? Especially with a squirming woman on his shoulder. Hell, they knew he was human. All they had to do was follow him, secure in the knowledge he’d eventually wear himself out. And if he didn’t wear himself out, Tarrys would do it for him. Controlled by the Esri, she’d be fighting him every step of the way. He’d always liked a challenge, but enough was enough, dammit.

  Tarrys’s struggles continued, though her movements, the way she was rocking her hips against his shoulder, felt less like struggling and more like…

  The scent of her arousal filled his nostrils, hardening him on the spot.

 
“Eaglet.” As if he didn’t have enough distractions without adding a raging hard-on to the list.

  “I can’t help it.” Her voice sounded on the verge of tears. “Through his touch, he ordered me naked and ready for his penetration. My body is desperate for his mating.”

  Hell. “How long does it last?”

  “Until he’s finished with me.”

  “He’s not going to finish,” he growled.

  Charlie ran full bore up the steep, rocky ridge, his mind whirring, searching for options. The problem was, he didn’t dare kill them. Because the moment he did, he’d acquire an Esrian death mark which was apparently the equivalent of a homing beacon. According to Kade, all Esri would not only know immediately what he’d done and to whom, but they’d know where he was. At all times. And feel duty bound to come after him and end his life, thank you very much.

  So, no, killing these douche bags wasn’t exactly at the top of his list of smart moves at the moment. The problem was, that list was looking damned empty.

  The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to keep ahead of the Esri chasing them. Beyond that was anyone’s guess.

  Less than a mile later, exhaustion started to nip at his heels. Discomfort had turned to pain a while back, but he’d long ago learned to ignore the pair of them. His body was strong. He knew what it was capable of.

  At least he knew what it was capable of in his own world. Never before had he hit such a wall of exhaustion that he’d literally been unable to move another step. Even sick as a dog. Yet he’d done just that earlier today, which told him this was no ordinary illness. It must have something to do with this place.

  If he hit that wall, now, with two Esri hot on their heels…

  Real fear twisted in his gut. If his body turned traitor on him again, it was all over, for both of them. Unfortunately, that scenario was all too likely.

  “Tarrys…I need some alternatives. Anything. I can’t outrun them forever.”