Dark Humanity

by Gwynn White

  He leaned against the window pane, got the image and flashed inside.

  “Or you could just do that. Impatient much?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.” Hands on the metal sink either side of me, he leaned in and breathed deep. If he came any closer, I’d kiss him. “More chocolate. I am going to form an addiction myself if I hang around you much longer.”

  “Hey, don’t sass the chocolate.” I ducked under his arm and set more bread in the toaster. After it popped, I spread both pieces with extra chocolate spread and passed him a slice. “You want juice too?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I poured then nudged the glass across the countertop toward him. Outside, the smoke continued to thicken. “That back-burning is certainly close. It better be working.”

  “Hope said the firefighters know their stuff, and I’m ready to move those horses when you are.”

  “You’re almost ready.” I pulled a toweling cloth out of the drawer, draped it over his nose and tied it in place at the back of his head. “Thank you for all your help.”

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He lifted my red and black checked neck-cloth over my nose. “Right. We’re all set to go. What’s the drill?”

  “We have over two-hundred breeding mares, plus foals, and they all need to be moved.”

  “How do you intend to contain them at the river?”

  “Leads. There’s a fence line down there, so we’ll tie them to the posts. That should work.” I flashed us to the stables. Smoke swirled through the air of the wide central holding room, obliterating the grassy scent of the hay bales stacked to the ceiling. “Use whatever you need from in here. There’s plenty of tack hooked on the back wall and tons of rope in the side room.” I pointed toward the back door. “Out that way are the fenced yards where we keep the mares and foals.”

  He caught my hand and squeezed it. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I will, and you too. No getting hurt on my turf. You take the outside area and I’ll move the mares close to birthing from down these corridors. That’ll be about half each. Go.” I nudged him toward the back door.

  “You stay safe, or else we’ll be having words.” He backed up, his fired gaze on me, and then slowly he turned and disappeared through the door.

  Staying safe would be letting him go and living his life, but I couldn’t keep denying the strength of our bond. What would it be like if we accepted it as Hope and Silas had done? What was between us would only develop and grow. I closed my eyes as longing swept through me. Damn, I was falling, and fast.

  Horses whinnied. Argh, I needed to get them out. I raced to the first stall.

  I ’ported each mare, taking extra care to secure them farther away from where Cole tied the mares.

  We passed each other going back and forth.

  As the hours rolled on, the humidity rose off the charts. Hope and Silas rode the perimeter of the grassy river belt, keeping the cattle contained as more herded cattle arrived. Gee, it was lucky the other warriors were so busy they hadn’t yet asked about the two extra hands. It helped Silas had his Stetson low and Cole the cloth over half his face.

  At the homestead the smoke continued to blow in, thick with red outback dust swirling within. I scrubbed my eyes with my knuckles. The bitter, choking haze clogged my throat and wiped out my vision. Such a raging, suffocating heat. I groped the walls of the paneled corridor and fumbled along until I reached the end stall. This should be the last one. I unclipped the catch and stumbled inside.

  “Where are you, Lieska. I can’t see a damn thing. There’s more smoke inside these stables now than outside.” Cole’s voice pounded down our link.

  “I’m here. Last mare. I won’t be long.” I coughed and spluttered. “Are you keeping the foals calm?” They fought the foreign restriction, but at least they were safe.

  “I’ve got them sorted, just. I’ll head back to the river with this last colt. You better be right behind me.”

  “Yes, right behind you.” I plucked my sweat-soaked shirt from my skin.

  I patted the air then knocked into the horse. With my foot. Damn, she was on the ground. On my knees, I stroked the mare’s slick neck. She snorted then whinnied as if in pain. Oh hell. One in labor. ’Porting a mare in this condition was asking for trouble.

  Gasping for breath, I worked at soothing her first.

  A precious minute ticked by. Two.

  “Lieska?” Cole’s voice echoed in my head, yet as if from a distance.

  I coughed and wheezed. I had to get this mare out of here. My throat tightened and constricted.

  “Answer me.” His tone held a deadly bite.

  I fought to get another breath in, managed a pitiful amount of air. Focus. ’Port her. You’ve done everything you can. She has to go like this.

  My lungs burned.

  My vision swam, and then nothing.

  MY CHEST EXPLODED with pain as a crashing weight came down on it.

  “Damn it, Lieska. Breathe.”

  A hot mouth covered mine, pushed air deep inside.

  My lungs were on fire.

  Another thump over my heart, then another, and another.

  Argh, that had to be Cole, and he needed to stop that pounding.

  “Breathe. Now.”

  I wanted to, just so I had enough air to yell at him.

  Light flared behind my closed eyelids, shoving away the last of the darkness.

  I dragged air in, and it scraped painfully along the sides of my throat.

  “That’s it, love. Take another breath.”

  He held me, surrounded me. Everything I wanted.

  “Cole?” I croaked his name.

  “You truly are the most difficult mate.” Hoarse words. “I swear you will never put your life on the line like that again. Do you hear me?”

  “Not quite sure.” I shoved open my heavy lids, and his beautiful gold-flecked gaze searched mine. I coughed. “Something about hearing you, but I can’t do that if you leave me.”

  “Take a drink. Your voice is far too scratchy.” Water dribbled over my lips. Nice. I opened my mouth and more trickled down my scorched throat. “It’s just as well you fast-heal. Hurry it up.”

  Could he get more demanding?

  Still, I kept lapping at the cool water, each sip going down easier, smoother, better.

  “That’s it.” Lips pressed to my forehead. “I don’t want to leave you either.”

  “We need to—” I coughed, cleared my throat and tried again. “We need to talk.”

  He lifted me higher in his lap then brushed his lips over mine. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “As it appears, I’m a little hard to get rid of.”

  A tear welled in the corner of his eye. “When you were in danger, my soul cried out for yours. I’m sorry, Lieska, but I can’t give you up. I think I’ve known it all along.”

  “You can’t?” I clutched his sooty shirtfront. “I’m struggling too. But how can we make this relationship work?”

  “We’re hunters. Nothing will truly stop us if we desire it.” He smiled, and I’d never seen him look so happy or determined. “Say you’ll hunt with me. We’ll pursue this bond. You hold the other half of my soul, and I yours. I’ll never want anyone other than you. Agree. Say yes.”

  I wanted him too, so badly. “I do like kissing you. You promise to keep that up?”

  “You have my word. So is that a yes?”

  I grinned, and unable to help myself, murmured, “Kiss me and find out. I dare you.”

  He looked deep into my eyes, bent his head and kissed me.

  My heart soared and my soul called to his.

  Oh, I had my mate, and I’d never let him go.

  It was time to live my life, with him.

  The hunter had succeeded in the hunt.

  Chapter Five

  I LEANED AGAINST Cole’s chest as he wrapped his arms around me from behind. We stood at the edge of the mighty river, which pulsed with life. Ducks hid
den within the reeds cackled and took flight. Their wings brushed the glistening surface as they swept across the wide expanse to the other side. Above, the skies were a brilliant blue without even a wisp of cloud.

  The outback had returned to its most striking, the back-burning operation a huge success. Within days the firefighters had stamped the fires out, more than a fortnight past. Now the cattle, thousands of head, grazed along this green belt and far into the distance.

  “I love this place.” I wriggled against him, so at peace.

  “I noticed.” He rubbed his chin over the top of my head. “Though it’s still far too hot today. I think I should stick around and make sure none of those fires decide to flare up again.”

  “Good idea.” He wouldn’t hear a complaint from me. Whatever time we could steal to be together, was the best. “Did you wanna see CCC. The newborn colt’s become quite attached to you.”

  After Cole had saved me, he’d returned to the stables and rescued the laboring mare. She’d birthed her foal and I’d named the young one Cool Calm Collected after the man who’d saved her.

  “I’d rather become more attached to you.”

  I turned and kissed him, my heart filled with love. How could I have ever wanted to give him up?

  “What are you thinking?” His hunter eyes gleamed.

  “That you deserve a reward for capturing this warrior.”

  “What kind of reward?”

  “Trust me. You’re going to love it.” I wriggled out of his hold and stepped back.

  “Where are you going, my love?”

  I kept moving, one step at a time.

  He stalked me.

  “Chase me and find out.”

  Laughing, I ’ported.

  He’d catch me. I had no doubt he would.

  And his prize?

  A lifetime of hunting me.

  * * *

  The End

  I hope you enjoyed that glimpse into Joanne Wadsworth’s Princesses of Myth series. Please feel free to search for the full-length novels now available at all e-retailers.

  For Princesses of Myth series book one:

  Protector, (Book 1), Faith and Davio’s Story

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  About the Author

  Joanne Wadsworth is a USA Today Bestselling Author who adores getting lost in the world of romance, no matter what era in time that might be. Hot alpha Highlanders hound her, demanding their stories are told and she’s devoted to ensuring they meet their match, whether that be with a feisty lass from the present or far in the past.

  Living on a tiny island at the bottom of the world, she calls New Zealand home. Big-dreamer, hoarder of chocolate, and addicted to juicy watermelons since the age of five, she chases after her four energetic children and has her own hunky hubby on the side.

  So come and join in all the fun, because this kiwi girl promises to give you her “Hot-Highlander” oath, to bring you a heart-pounding, sexy adventure from the moment you turn the first page. This is where romance meets fantasy and adventure…

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  Chaos: A Short Story

  Constance Burris

  CHAOS © copyright 2014 Constance Burris

  * * *

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  About Chaos

  CHAOS

  * * *

  Michael, a naval psychiatrist and secret telepath, has always felt like a god among men, but when a fellow telepath and suspected deserter enters his office, he’ll have to face his fears to help her overcome her past.

  Chaos

  “Dr. Chauncey, your next patient is here,” my secretary announced through the intercom.

  “Thanks, Margaret.” I closed Kimberly Turner’s file and waited.

  I stood as the door opened and watched as Kimberly Turner walked across the room and stopped at my desk. The military photo in her file had shown a dark, young woman with a short afro. The woman before me had straight hair that hung pass her shoulders. Her eyes, which had been indecipherable in the photograph, were the same dark green as mine.

  “I'm Dr. Michael Chauncey.” I extended my hand, but she only ignored it and sat down in the chair across from my desk.

  “I'm Dr. Chauncey,” I repeated with my hand still extended, refusing to give up my routine. “I’m the psychologist assigned to your case.” I didn’t tell her I was the best psychologist in the Navy. No one knows this, but I’m the best because I am a telepath. When I initially meet a patient, I explore their mind while shaking their hand. I can do it from across the room, but physical contact allows me to get a feel of their emotional state as well. Ms. Turner, however, simply glanced at my hand, making no move to shake it.

  Finally, I sat down. “You must be Kimberly Turner,” I said, trying to recover some of my pride.

  “I am.” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair.

  “Then let's get down to business. You've been missing for seven years. Where have you been?” Since she'd interrupted my routine, I decided to delay reading her mind. It felt good, although a bit uncomfortable, to sit across from someone and not know what chaos lay within.

  She motioned towards the file on my desk. “What does my file say?”

  “You tell me.”

  I waited for her to speak, but she only crossed her arms and glared at me.

  “From what I’ve been told,” I said. “Seven years ago, the naval helicopter you were piloting went down near the Mexican border. Your co-pilot’s body was found near his parachute, severely disfigured by animals. We assumed animals had gotten you also until you walked into the American consulate in Mexico City a few weeks ago.

  “You haven’t been very forthcoming about where you’ve been or who you’ve been with, so no one is sure if you’ve been AWOL or a held against your will.”

  I paused, waiting for her to speak, when she remained silent, I began again. “The Navy doesn’t want to seem insensitive to a possible POW, so for now they sent you to me instead of prison.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “If I had gone AWOL, why would I have come back?”

  “If you didn’t go AWOL, then tell me where you’ve been.”

  She shrugged and looked away.

  My patience had run out. I concentrated and tried to read her mind. I sat there for over a minute with no results before her voice echoed in my mind: Doctor, you should ask permission before trying to invade a person's thoughts.

  I jumped out of my chair and looked at her as if she'd turned into a nine-legged monster. For a split deceptive second, I believed I'd imagined it, but then her voice was in my head again: You've never been around another telepath?

  I opened my mouth to speak, but all I could do was grunt.

  She laughed. “What was that, doctor?”

  Instead of responding, I ran from her and out of my office like a coward.

  “Dr. Chauncey . . .” Margaret called as I passed her desk.

  Ignoring her, I raced through the recep
tion area to the public restrooms around the corner from my office. I stood in the cold bathroom while her voice resonated through my mind. I finally knew what it was like to be invaded, and it was much worse than I had imagined.

  When I was younger, my family hated me. They were scared of a child that could listen to their thoughts as if they were being broadcast over the radio.

  “Dr. Chauncey.” Margaret knocked on the bathroom door.

  “Yes,” I answered, sobering.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine. Give me a minute.”

  “Ms. Turner wants to know if you're returning.”

  Was I? “No, reschedule her. I'm not feeling well.”

  “Alright, doctor,” she answered from behind the door, sounding worried.

  I returned to my office fifteen minutes later, hoping Kimberly Turner had left. I hoped I looked like a doctor people trusted to help ease their pain and suffering and not a doctor whose entire predictable world had just been shattered.

  “Are you feeling better?” Margaret asked.

  I sighed. “No, I'm not feeling well. Will you please reschedule my other appointments?”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  From her mind, I knew she thought I’d caught the stomach virus that was making its way through the base, so I moaned a little and held my stomach as I walked back into my office. Once I was safely behind my desk, I pulled out the bottle of whiskey a patient had given me two years ago. Drinking from it greedily, I ignored the burning in my throat and welcomed the numbness that followed.

  I had believed there were no others like me and there was no mind closed to me. I had always felt like a god among men. I endured my isolated childhood and my loneliness with the reassurance that I had an ability no one else had. Now to finally meet another god—no, a goddess—with the same ability was horrifying.