by Susan Harris
The force of her hair whipping against her fair skin was sharp enough to draw blood, but she felt no pain. Sand swirled in the desert, and the dense heat was enough to draw a small bead of sweat from her forehead, but neither bothered her; she was no mere mortal. She wiped the blood from her sword onto the body of the slain at her feet and continued. This one had not been worthy.
Eyes blazing a radiant shimmer of cobalt, she paced down the sand dune, avoiding the multiple bodies that had been laid to waste. The ones who were still alive watched her with awe and admiration, as if she were a goddess. Perhaps she was, but right now was not the time to consider her divinity. Dressed in the finest of clothing from her tough, bear-hide skirt to the cropped bra top she wore underneath the hard, impenetrable breastplate woven from the toughest metals from her land, she tended to wish that those beneath her would consider her one of the fiercest of warriors of all time—so much more than a mere goddess.
Brushing the cutting strands from her face, the warrior paused as she surveyed the landscape before her. Her fellow sisters fought battles of their own, each warrior so gloriously beautiful in their dance of death that she paused for a moment to admire them. The wind gathered around her, sand entwining with it in little bursts before settling on the barren wasteland once more. She nodded her approval as her sisters chose the victors, those worthy and battle ready. War was coming and good soldiers were needed in order to level the playing field.
Halting her observation, she moved forward, the harsh glare of the too-bright sun and the grit of sand slipping in between her sandals causing a mild yet noticeable irritation. Blood soaked the sand, a reminder of all those who had been slain here this eve.
Reaching the end of the dune, she made her way over to one of the other warriors who had come halfway to meet her.
“Have we reached our quota on this cull, Systir?”
“We are but a few soldiers short. Mayhap our sisters will have more luck in the ocean lands,” her sister replied.
She let a dangerous smile curl up her lips. “We have little time before he attempts to storm our home. We will have enough strength to defeat him, I am sure of it, but we must not get complacent. Take the worthy home and begin their training.”
“Do you not fear that they will be too tired from the trials to commence such a rigorous training regime?” There was concern in her sister’s voice—not for the warriors, she guessed, but for the loss of soldiers should they not survive the training.
“In battle, there is no rest. We fight until our enemy is defeated, or we bleed our last drop of blood. Our enemy will crush us if we do not have the stamina to last a day of fighting. Then it will be the blood of our kin that will be spilled onto the sands of time, and we shall perish, mere mentions in a history book.”
“Understood.” The warrior pulled out a curved horn and blew sharply into it. The shrill sound made her fellow sisters’ ears twitch as they stood, gathered the worthy, and with a fist over their chests, faced her. She bowed her head, mimicked their actions, and then they were gone; the only evidence they had been there were bloodstained footprints in the sand.
The hairs on the back of her head stood to attention, and she spun round, her sword in hand. Metal clashed against metal as her attacker snickered at her. The startling white of her attacker’s hair shone in the unforgiving sun as he thrust his weapon forward, the warrior able to dodge with seconds to spare.
“I would have thought you more careful, daughter mine.”
“And I would have thought you had more sense than to take on a warrior of my caliber, Father. Mother has trained me well in the art of spilling blood.”
The white-haired man chuckled. “It is nice to see you inherited your mother’s cockiness and self-importance, daughter. I shall enjoy bleeding it out of you as I once bled it from her.”
Fury became lightning in her veins as she charged him, her body and sword hungry for blood. They danced the dance of warriors, each taking tentative strikes to find a weak spot in their opponent. But they were both seasoned warriors—weakness was not in their vocabulary.
She pivoted to the right, hoping to sneak her blade in through his ribs, but he spotted her advance, familiar with her movements. Knowing that immature reactions would only lead to her own bloodshed, she cursed to herself and focused her energies on defeating the man who threatened to take away all that her mother had built—her legacy. That was something she could never allow to happen.
With poise, speed, and precision, she struck out with her sword and caught her foe on the upper arm as he tried to avoid the strike. The smell of copper hit her nostrils, and she bit back a smile at her little victory.
But her father was not happy. In fact, he began to tremble with rage that his own daughter had been able to draw blood from his flesh. Arrogant as he indeed was, her father did not believe he could be thwarted in his goals. As they stared at each other, the intensity of her own blue eyes was mirrored in the pale blue of his own. They held each other’s gaze, neither willing to yield to the other. She felt the call of her sisters reaching out, beckoning her home.
“Shall we end this now, Father? Do you yield and live to fight another day, or would you like to know what it’s like to feel the blade of a warrior slice through bone?”
Her father ran his fingers through his chest-length beard. “We shall call it a draw this eve, daughter mine. Next time, by the Gods of Old, I will grieve your passing as you finally lay dead at my feet.”
She sheathed her sword at her waist and dismissed him with the flick of her hand. “The Gods of Old hold no sway over me. Your power will not be enough to defeat my mother’s army. I look forward to ending your rein for the good of all of our people. Until the next battle, Father.”
She gave him her back and realized far too late that she had made a stupid mistake, one she would have punished her subordinates for. Her father was behind her in an instant, using his sheer power to punch through her back and wrap his hands around her heart. The pain made her cry out, a weakness her body would not allow her to clamp down.
“As I said, daughter, you hold your mother’s arrogance within you. You will not die from this wound; that would be cheating, and I would never allow that. But I will rip your heart from your chest, dear daughter, and if you should die then, I will see you in the next life.”
He pressed his lips to the top of her head before he squeezed her heart. She allowed her eyes to close and sent a silent prayer to her sisters. As they burst onto the sand once more, they roared at the sight of her father and charged. A battle cry sounded, so fierce that it wrung tears from her eyes.
Suddenly, there was nothing but searing pain as her father ripped her heart from her chest, and then, oddly, there was no more pain, no torment inside her. The storm of emotions she carried inside was gone, and the peace of death seeped into her very being. The edges of her world darkened as she lost control of her limbs, and she crumbled to the ground at the feet of her father as he had always wished.
Ever lurched to awareness as she sat up to the sound of screams. Her eyes darted around as she tried to locate the source. When the screaming continued, she realized she was the one who was screaming. Ever took in the strange surroundings with no clue as to where she was. Anxiety rushed through her as she clutched her chest, the pain from her dream slowly easing now that she was awake.
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall, and Ever searched for a way out of the unfamiliar place. How had she gotten here? Where was here?
The door was flung open. Light flooded the room as Ever blinked away the sudden brightness and laid eyes on the man who stood in front of her. Dressed in only drawstring pant bottoms, Derek Doyle was a vision of pure masculine force. His hair was tousled, and he watched her with hazel eyes tired from sleep.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked, concern littering his voice.
Ever rubbed the back of her neck. Was she okay? The dream had felt so real, the pain of dying even more so. Maybe talking to Derek
about her parents today had dragged up insecurities of where she had come from. Ever had never had such vivid dreams before. It almost felt like a memory.
“Yeah, I think so… bad dream.”
Derek snorted. “With all that’s going on with the murders, I’m sure a lot of people are having nightmares. Can I get you anything?”
She hugged her knees to her chest and pulled the warm, orange blanket up to her chin. It was soft to the touch and comforting, though she still had no idea how she had ended up on a couch, covered in a soft blanket with an almost naked Derek Doyle. Ever glanced up at him again, running her eyes over his frame. He had defined muscles that she guessed he’d had before he became a werewolf and a broad chest that looked perfect for snuggling. Ever blushed at the thoughts in her mind and shook her head.
Derek padded out of the door, and Ever watched him go, surprised at the tattoo covering his entire back. She wanted a better look, but he came back into the room with a glass of water and set it down on the table next to her.
“How’d I get here?”
Derek sat down on the coffee table in front of her, resting his chin in his hands as he replied. “You fell asleep before we left the station. I had no clue where you lived, so I brought you here.”
“God, I’m so embarrassed! First, I fall asleep, and then I wake you with my over-active imagination. I’m so sorry, Derek.”
He grinned, and her heart did a little summersault. “I wasn’t really sleeping if I’m being honest. I was going through some case files when I heard you scream. Must have been some dream considering you are as white as a ghost. Wanna tell me ‘bout it?”
She returned his smile, surprised at how easy it was to be in his company. It was hard to believe that they had known each other less than twenty-four hours. “It was strange, like something out of a fantasy novel. I was a fierce warrior with sisters, though I don’t think they were blood. We were holding trials of some sort. When they were over, I stayed behind while the others left with our soldiers. Then my father arrived, and we fought until he ripped my heart from my chest. I think I kind of died.”
Derek whistled. “Damn, that was some dream… no wonder you woke up like you did.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna sleep anymore tonight after that.” She sighed. “But you go and get some rest.”
He cracked the muscles in his neck. “Nah, with the full moon so close, my wolf is restless. He simply wants to become, so sleep won’t come easy. I’d probably get a few hours and wake up grumpier than usual.”
Ever laughed. “Not a good idea, it seems.”
“Not really. I’m already an ass… no sleep will make me so much worse.”
Amusement lit up his voice, and Ever guessed this was a side to Derek that very few people saw. She reached out, giving his knee a squeeze in silent thanks, and heat lit up his eyes with amber. He shook his head and the amber resided, leaving just the deep brown of his eyes.
“You want something other than water? I think I’ve got coffee somewhere.”
“Sure. Then maybe you can tell me about that impressive tattoo on your back.”
He made no reply, simply strode out the door he came in, leaving Ever alone and giving her the opportunity to take in her surroundings. The couch she rested on sat in the center of the small, square room, adjacent to a huge, open fireplace. Cream-painted walls that might have appeared dull and boring at first were decorated with a vast array of pictures and paintings that gave the room a homey, warm feel. A wide patio door to her right looked out over the city, the darkness from outside sparkling with the firefly of lights that beckoned her back to the city she dearly loved.
Getting up, Ever walked around the room, taking everything in. She studied the pictures and paintings. There were pictures of Derek as he was now with a variety of different people, including children, taken over the years. On the far wall, she spotted a picture of a young girl perched on his shoulders. Both Derek and the girl were laughing, clearly having fun. Beside it, a similar picture captured Derek again with a young woman perched on his shoulders. She was startled when she realized that the young girl and the young woman were one and the same, the birthmark on the side of her face evident in both pictures.
“That’s my niece, Chloe.”
His voice sounded behind her, and she jumped. He came to stand beside her, handing the hot cup of coffee sideways. Ever tried to ignore the shot of electricity that sparked when he brushed his fingers over hers.
“Do you still see her?”
Derek grinned, his eyes on his niece. “Like I’d have any say in the matter. Chloe got her mother’s stubborn nature as well as her looks. When Sylvia passed, she made Chloe promise to keep in contact and make sure her kids knew me. That way, Sylvia could ensure I was never alone.”
Ever nudged him with her elbow. “She sounds like a wise woman.”
“Oh, she was. She and Mark, my brother, were the ones who defended me so publicly when I came back changed. I was convinced they would shun me because of the evil inside me. But Sylvia introduced me to her new baby girl, told her I was her Uncle Derek, and that I was strong, fierce, and would protect her even after her mom was dust on the wind.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat while Ever took a timid sip of her coffee.
“She handed me that little girl, and I sat there for hours, just holding her, grateful that my family had not cast me aside. I had stayed away for so long after I was changed that I feared I’d left things too late. Now, if I’m out of contact for too long, I receive numerous phone calls threatening bodily harm if I don’t turn up to a family event.”
Ever sighed at his thinking that he was evil, but she decided not to press him. “How long were you gone?”
“Ten years.”
“That’s a long time to be away from home.”
“I had to serve my alpha until I was strong enough to control myself. When I could maintain control of my wolf, I came back. I just feel lucky that it wasn’t too late to say goodbye to my mother. My dad died about five years after I went missing in action.”
Setting her coffee down on the arm of the couch, she leaned against it, facing him. “Derek, I’m so sorry.”
He reached out and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Nothing to be sorry for, Ever. It is what it is. I’ll continue to watch over my family for as long as there is breath in my body. Or Sylvia will come back and haunt my ass.”
His eyes held hers, and suddenly she felt the urge to kiss him, to press her lips against his and taste him. She sensed the lust roll through him and chewed on her bottom lip as he froze.
“Damn it, Ever. Don’t look at me like that.”
She swallowed hard before she answered him. “Like what?”
“Like you wanna take a bite outta me.”
Ever closed her eyes, and an image popped into her head. She was astride Derek’s lap, gloriously naked, her head thrown back as he thrust into her, the strength of his hands on her back the only thing that held her in place as they rode each other into nirvana.
She flushed, clearing her throat and shrugging, but her heart pounded in her chest as she slowly reopened her eyes. He shifted away from her and walked around to stand at the opposite end of the room. She was amused by his coyness and intrigued more by the wolf who tried to be hard on the outside, but was sensitive and loving on the inside.
“I got the tattoo long before I got home. I wanted to do something to remember my brothers who died when I was changed.” He slowly turned to reveal the impressive artwork on his back. From the curve at the bottom of his back to the strong outline of his shoulder blades, the tattoo was a piece of art carved into skin. “The dragon is a symbol of strength and protection, while the samurai is representative of all the warriors who died that night. If you look real close, you can see the outline of their names engraved on the sword.”
Ever proceeded to walk over to him and place her fingertips on his back to trace the outline of his spine. She ignored the shud
der that ran through him at her touch. The skin was smooth where the tattoo sat. She traced the sword with the names of Derek’s fellow soldiers. Then she began to follow the curve of the dragon as it surrounded the samurai and roared a silent scream of aggression.
“It must’ve hurt getting all this beautiful line work done. How did you manage to get it to stay on your skin? Most tattoos on shifters fade away due to your healing abilities.”
He stepped away from her touch and faced her. “If you get it done before that full power sets in, it will work. I found an artist who dealt with supernatural beings before, and while it was twice as painful, it was worth it.”
Ever began to say something, but the sound of Derek’s phone broke the spell of the moment.
“Yeah,” he barked into his phone.
Ever listened as he spoke, watching as his eyes opened wide in surprise.
“When did this happen?” A pause before he answered. “Okay, we’re on our way. Be there in twenty.”
He hung up, and Ever could feel the nervous energy flowing from him.
“What’s happened?” she asked.
“The kidnapper struck again. And close to home this time. He tried to take a young pup from her home in Middleton.”
“Tried?”
A feral grin spread over his face, making him look ever so wolfish. “He picked on the wrong pup. She fought back… and escaped. She’s in the hospital now.”
Grabbing her bag, Ever headed for the door. “Let’s go.”
