Dark Defender

by Alexis Morgan

  His expression was deadly serious as he again lathered up the washcloth and used it to drive her crazy, paying particular attention to her breasts and other sensitive areas. Well, two could play at this game.

  She took the washcloth from him. “Turn around.”

  She loved the power he’d surrendered to her as she learned each curve and muscle of his strong back and solid legs. His numerous scars hurt her heart, so she kissed each one, wishing she’d been there to ease his pain. He flinched each time, but didn’t protest.

  “Face me.”

  Hmm, her ministrations had had a profound affect on one part of his anatomy. Ignoring it for the moment, she soaped his chest and let the shower rinse it clean. Kneeling to wash his legs put her at eye level with his erection. She worked up a lather with her hands and gently fisted him and was immediately rewarded with a moan. The sense of power it gave her was heady stuff. Cupping him gently, she slid her fingers up and down his length several times, not sure which of them was enjoying it more.

  Then she leaned forward and licked him. His breath caught as he rocked toward her in invitation; she smiled and took him in her mouth. Before she could establish a rhythm, however, his big hands clasped her arms and lifted her to her feet.

  “We’re short on time, Brenna.”

  For a painful heartbeat she thought he was refusing what she was offering, but he reached past her to turn off the water and said, “That means we’d better get down to business.”

  He swung her up in his water-slick arms and stepped out of the tub, then he carried her to the bed and tossed her down so that she landed on her stomach.

  “Blake Trahern!” She started to turn over, but he stopped her by snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her to her knees in front of him.

  Then he thrust inside her, ending all coherent thought as he pumped hard, his belly slapping against her backside. His hands held her hips steady as his powerful thrusts drove in deep. Nothing and no one had ever taken her with this primitive abandon. She chanted his name, using that single word to tell him how much she wanted this.

  He leaned over her and used one hand to squeeze her breasts almost to the point of sweet pain. She wiggled her hips, letting him know without words that she wanted more. His hand followed the curve of her waist down and over her stomach to the nest of curls between her legs, to stroke the damp heat he found there. Lightning struck, sending ecstasy rippling through her. Then Trahern shouted out his own release, and they collapsed in a tangled heap.

  He moved away too soon, taking his warmth with him again, but this time, he offered her a hand up off the bed and gave her a quick kiss. “We’d better finish that shower and get dressed. Jarvis will be waiting.”

  She followed him into the shower, but this time he was all business. Time to get back to the real world.

  Chapter 8

  B lake dressed and left to order breakfast for the two of them. As Brenna brushed her hair in front of the mirror, she saw Blake’s bandage in the wastebasket by the dresser. What was it doing there? When had he peeled it off?

  She’d entirely forgotten about his wound. Closing her eyes, she pictured him getting dressed a few minutes ago. He should have been favoring that shoulder, but he’d moved as if there was nothing wrong with it. And there was no wound crusted over with dried blood; only a fresh scar where the bullet hole should have been. How could that be? Her own cuts, although days older, looked much worse.

  She dropped onto the edge of the bed as her world rocked. Could his wild claims possibly be true? Could he be everything he claimed to be: a Paladin who died and lived again, and healed from wounds that would prove fatal to anyone else? If that was true, then his kind really did fight a secret war against invaders from other worlds. Not only that, but her father had been a part of Blake’s world, living a double life she hadn’t known about.

  Her mind refused to accept it, but her heart told her otherwise.

  The urge to move, to run, to deny everything had her up and packing. She stuffed her personal belongings back into her suitcase. It took a couple of tries to close the zipper, but finally her bag was sitting on the floor by the door. Then she perched on the edge of the bed to wait for Blake to return.

  She was glad he wasn’t back yet: she needed time to come to terms with what had happened.

  Last night, she’d taken a lover who wasn’t completely human.

  He knew the minute he stepped back into the room that something had changed. Brenna had accepted the food he’d handed her with a quiet thank you, but she hadn’t looked at him directly since his return.

  Something was definitely wrong. It was in the tense set of her shoulders and the sideways looks when she thought he wasn’t watching. Her bag was sitting by the door as if she’d been ready to bolt before he returned.

  She’d been so vocal in her approval of their lovemaking, but now she had withdrawn to someplace that didn’t include him. They’d both acknowledged that last night had been special, something to revel in and then walk away from. Perhaps this was just her way of doing that, but he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Besides him, last night, but he wisely kept that snide remark to himself.

  She jumped, as if she thought he was going to attack her. Had she finally accepted what he’d been telling her?

  She still hadn’t answered, so he crossed the narrow room and crowded her.

  “What happened to convince you that I’m a Paladin?” He stood over her with his legs apart, a warrior’s stance. He wouldn’t apologize for what he was.

  At least now she was looking at him—or more accurately, his shoulder. “Your wound isn’t just healed; it’s already just a scar.”

  “That’s part of the Paladin package, honey.”

  She glared at him, not appreciating his attitude. Too damn bad; he was what he was. But that didn’t mean that he liked the way she was looking at him, as if he’d suddenly turned into a monster. She was the first person outside of the Paladins that he’d trusted with the knowledge of what he was, and now she was throwing that trust right back in his face. If it wouldn’t have frightened her even more, he would have hurled her suitcase across the room.

  He hated, really hated, the fear in her eyes.

  “And just how does one become a Paladin?”

  Now she sounded like a snooty college professor, which he didn’t like much better. He was proud of what he was; he’d thought she would be, too.

  “One doesn’t become a Paladin; you’re born one. The doctors in Research could tell you more, but I doubt that you’d find it very interesting.”

  Her chin came up. “Is Dr. Young one of those doctors?”

  What was that odd note in her voice? “Yeah, she is. How do you know about her?”

  Brenna concentrated on cutting her bacon into very small bites. “She called earlier. Since I didn’t know if she could be trusted, I asked her to have your friend Devlin call.”

  He was no expert on women’s emotions, but he was pretty sure that was jealousy in her voice. While that pleased him on some selfish level, now wasn’t the time to put more strain on their relationship.

  “Devlin is the top dog among the Seattle Paladins. Dr. Young is our Handler: that means she puts us back together and decides if we’ve got enough humanity left in us to live. She and Devlin are lovers.” He shook his head. “None of us saw that coming.”

  Brenna looked puzzled. “What’s wrong with them being lovers?”

  “It’s never happened before in all the history of the Paladins. Handlers and Paladins have no emotional involvement. That makes it easier when the Handler has to decide to put down a Paladin for crossing the line.”

  Her eyes were wide with shock. “What line?”

  “Damn it, Brenna, haven’t you been listening?” He spoke slowly and clearly, as if explaining something to a small child. “Paladins live and die repeatedly, becoming more like the Others with each death, until they finally wake up stark
raving mad and have to be put down like a vicious animal. We travel that path at different rates, but eventually we all get to the same destination.”

  Brenna stared up at him as one emotion after another flitted across her face—shock, horror, the worst of all: pity.

  “Why, Blake? Why does it have to be that way?”

  He shrugged. “Genetics. Dr. Young thinks she can change that, but I’m not holding my breath. It’s been fun, though, watching everybody scrambling to decide if it’s okay for a Paladin to hook up with his Handler. Devlin doesn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks, and Laurel Young can go toe-to-toe with the best of them.”

  “She’s your Handler, too?”

  “Yeah, she is.” And one of these days he was going to cause Laurel Young a whole lot of pain when she had to grab that needle full of toxins and shove it in his arm. They’d all seen how devastated she was the first time she’d ended a Paladin’s life, even though he’d been a complete stranger. None of the Seattle Paladins liked the idea that their final death would hurt her deeply, especially Devlin’s.

  However, Devlin’s progress toward becoming like the Others had evidently slowed down. No one knew why, but all of Research was interested in finding out. Devlin didn’t think much of being considered a lab rat, but if it meant saving some of his friends from certain death, he’d put up with a few extra needle pokes and tests. Besides, it gave him an excuse to hang out with his woman right under the nose of the higher-ups. Devlin was just perverse enough to enjoy that.

  Brenna had shoved her breakfast plate aside, having eaten only a little of her meal. She seemed to have run out of questions for the moment, so he concentrated on finishing his own bacon and eggs. They had a long way to drive to meet up with Jarvis, so it might be awhile before they’d have a chance to eat again. Although his body did heal quickly, it would take another couple of days to recoup the energy he’d lost to the healing process.

  When he was done, he made quick work of packing up. If he stayed in the area much longer, he’d have to stop and buy more clothes. He’d left Seattle in such a hurry that he’d thrown only the bare minimum into his duffel. One T-shirt had been lost to yesterday’s gunshot, and Brenna hadn’t returned the one he’d loaned her. Not that he’d ask for it back. He rather liked the idea of her sleeping in his shirt—unless he had another chance to keep her naked in his bed.

  Like that was going to happen again anytime soon.

  Ritter stared out of the hotel window and cursed. Where the hell were Trahern and Brenna Nichols? His two buffoons with badges had reluctantly admitted to a run-in with them at her house, and the stupid bastards had made two major mistakes. First, they let Trahern shoot out their tires so they couldn’t follow him. And second, they shot Trahern himself. They had no idea what a Paladin was, and he saw no need to enlighten them.

  The fools would find out soon enough the next time their paths crossed his. By all reports, Trahern was as bad as they came, volatile and a remorseless killer. With luck, the Paladin would dispose of the two cops and save him the trouble.

  Right now, he’d give anything to know where Trahern had gone to ground with the Nichols woman. What had they found in the house that two police searches had missed? There was no proof that they had located anything, but it seemed unlikely that they would have been on their way out of the house empty-handed.

  Damn, he hated puzzles. If Nichols had found enough incriminating information to come after him, then why was Trahern still running instead of coming after those responsible for the judge’s death with guns blazing? Maybe they’d gone to ground until Trahern recovered from his wound, if the detectives really had gotten in a lucky shot. That gave him maybe another twelve hours to locate the fugitives and get that information before they could act on it.

  The same genes that endowed them with long life and recuperative powers also gave Paladins exceptional intelligence and logic. Not much got by them when it came to their life in the trenches, and something had happened in Seattle to arouse the suspicions of Trahern and his pal Devlin Bane.

  If that idiot guard, Sgt. Purefoy, hadn’t already died for his incompetence, he would have taken great pleasure in killing the little shit himself. Not only had Purefoy failed to take out Bane and throw the Seattle Paladins into disarray, but his actions had led Trahern to involve the judge in their problems. Nichols had been a top flight Regent, honest and hardworking. God, he’d hated that man. How could anyone associate with criminals day in and day out and still be such a straight arrow?

  It was such an irresistible scam. He’d managed to get word across the barrier that those who wished to cross into this world could do so at a price. When the barrier failed, a few blue stones would change hands, and those whacked-out bastards were home safe. Only a select few guards knew about the deal he’d made. And every one of those filthy Others faced death at the point of a Paladin sword, their bribes merely padding his pockets.

  Which reminded him, the latest payment was late. He’d checked his bank balance online, and it didn’t reflect any transfer of funds from his customer. Since he was taking all the risks, the least the bastards could do was be prompt with the money. He had police to bribe, hands to grease, and tracks to cover. As soon as he dealt with the little problems of Trahern and that Nichols woman, he’d tie up a few loose ends and disappear.

  Judging by Trahern’s medical records, he was but a breath away from insanity and turning Other. If someone were to arrange a nasty death for Ms. Nichols, it wouldn’t be hard to convince the Regents and Ordinance that the unstable Paladin needed to be put down—especially with the death of two detectives tied into his case. Yes, that would be the crowning touch. With all the death and mayhem, his own disappearance would go unnoticed until it was too late.

  But first, he needed the judge’s information, to contain the damage. He wasn’t worried about it incriminating him; once he disappeared that didn’t matter. But if Nichols had managed to trace the chain of guilty parties beyond Ritter, there wasn’t a place on earth that would be safe enough to hide in. And what good was amassing a fortune if he didn’t live to spend it?

  The silence in the car was so thick, Brenna could hardly breathe. She turned her head to watch Trahern’s hands on the wheel. They were masculine hands, large and strong, with calluses that she now knew came from swinging a sword. The idea should horrify her, but now that she was over the initial shock of learning who and what he really was, all she could think of was how those same hands had felt last night as he had made love to her.

  The sex had burned hot and hard and a little rough, but she’d felt wholly cherished in his arms. Even now, she relished the memory of being the sole focus of all that intensity.

  Big, tough guy that he was, he would probably deny it, but she knew her reaction had hurt him this morning. Surely he could understand her shock, though. After all, normal men didn’t get shot in the shoulder, sleep for a couple of hours, and wake up strong enough to make love three or four times before the sun came up.

  To top it all off, she wished they could do it all again. Her wayward thoughts had her shifting in her seat, which caught Trahern’s attention.

  “What’s wrong now?” He didn’t bother to look her way.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine and wasn’t sure she ever would be. “How much farther?”

  “Another fifty miles or so.”

  They rode on in silence for another handful of minutes. Her stomach was muttering something about it being long past time for lunch. According to the last sign they’d passed, another town should be looming on the horizon.

  She was about to mention it when Blake said, “I thought we’d stop in the next town. We need to talk.”

  That sounded ominous.

  “When are you going to open the envelope my father left for you?” She looked directly ahead, not wanting to see his reaction.

  “There’s a small roadside park a few miles before the compound where Jarvis is waiting for us. I was going to stop
there after lunch.”

  “Is it another one of your trysting spots?” she sniped.

  He kept his attention on the road’s sharp turns, but there was a particularly irritating look on his face, as if he found her question entertaining.

  “I know the park’s there because I’ve driven past it often enough. There are plenty of picnic tables I never got around to trying out.” He smiled, just a little. “We could add another table to my list, if you’re interested.”

  She was interested all right, but sex alfresco had never been one of her fantasies. At least, up until now.

  Food helped. Coffee hot enough to scald his mouth also helped, and even yesterday’s stale cake helped. Anything that kept him too busy to think about the woman sitting across from him in the booth. How could Brenna have spent the night in his arms, burning up the sheets, then look at him like something she’d found under a rock? It pissed him off royally. That, and having to admit how much her attitude hurt him.

  Hell, he knew he wasn’t completely human, but most of the time he didn’t feel all that different. Back in his training days, a Handler had said the genetic difference between a normal human being and a Paladin was less than one half of one percent. Of course, that small percentage was alien DNA, a legacy from a few Others who had managed to cross the border and insinuate themselves into the population of this world. Their genetic makeup, combined with human, made their offspring different from both the parent stocks in important ways.

  Some of the differences were good: longer life, the ability to heal, sharp intelligence. But they were more than offset by the downside: every Paladin, without exception, became more and more like the Others as time went on. It was ironic that he’d spent a lifetime fighting his distant relatives.

  “Slow down, Blake, before you choke on your food. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  Easy for her to say. But time was running out for both of them. He figured the two St. Louis cops were paid dupes, just as the guard had been back in Seattle. It was the man jerking their strings who interested him.