Possessed by a Warrior

by Sharon Ashwood

  Sam narrowed his eyes. If he was reading the tracks right, there were two sets of footprints in the soft dirt. It looked as though the intruder got in the passenger side. Had someone been waiting for him?

  Instinct made Sam follow the road about a mile to the first bend. The wind was starting to smell damp with a rain that would wash away any remaining clues once it fell. He was running on pure intuition now, all hunter, the beast in him adding its predatory cunning to his human intelligence.

  Just around the bend he found the car. It was nose-first into the ditch, the front bumper crunched against a tree. The passenger door was partially open but jammed into the ground, as if the accident had happened when the door was ajar. Had someone bailed out partway through the crash?

  Sam wrinkled his nose. Despite his deadened senses, a new banquet of smells, both revolting and enticing, pulled him toward the scene. He approached cautiously.

  The driver was slumped over the wheel, obviously dead. Air bags hung like deflated balloons. Sam felt a wave of cold nausea as he circled toward the windshield, peering through the glass to catch a glimpse of the man’s face.

  A good deal of the man’s head was splattered over the side window glass. The bullet had come from the passenger seat. Sam mentally reconstructed the events. Bang, pop the door, jump out just before the car swerves into the ditch and smashes the tree.

  Risky, shooting the driver. Then again, he would have been slowing the car for the turn. A cold, calculated chance. Not for beginners.

  Sam looked long and hard at the ruined face, finally placing it. One of Jack’s security guards. Here, perhaps, was an answer. Gossip traveled through household staff like wildfire. News of the dress, however hard they’d tried to keep it quiet, would have been a particularly juicy tidbit. If this guard was in league with Jack’s killers, that would explain how he came to be in this car. It also would explain how the thief got into the house. The question was, who were his contacts?

  Sam circled around to the open door, covering his nose and mouth with his sleeve to filter the stench of carnage. Blood was one thing, but there were plenty of substances inside a human body that should definitely stay inside.

  Digging his feet into the soft dirt, he pushed the car upright enough to free the passenger door. It was a fruitless effort; the hinges were bent. Bracing the car with his shoulder, he gave the door a solid jerk. It came off in his hands. Sam tossed it into the ditch and let the car settle back into the mud.

  Now that he could get inside, he looked for a bullet casing, but found none. Either the shooter had somehow retrieved it or it had flown out of the car during the crash. He searched the glove compartment only to discover the car came from a cheap rental place that specialized in older, practical runabouts. Perfect for getaway cars.

  Sam would lay good money the name on the rental papers was fake. Whoever the intruder was, he was an ice-cold professional. He would call Winspear, have him send one of the Company’s crime scene experts, but he didn’t expect that they’d find much.

  Whoever this guy was, he was good.

  Sam pulled his head out of the car, sucking in clean, sweet air. His head snapped toward Oakwood, where the lights glinted through the trees. He had found what he could for now. Time to get back. Kenyon was guarding Chloe, but that wasn’t enough to stop the tsunami of Sam’s protective instincts.

  Chloe.

  Then, as if on cue, a scream tore the night.

  Chapter 7

  Vampires moved fast, but at the sound of the scream Sam moved demon-fast, feet barely grazing the ground as he sprinted. The cry had come from the house. No human would have heard it at that distance, but a vampire could—especially one tuned to that particular voice. Within minutes he pushed through the side door of Jack’s house.

  He skidded to a stop, swearing explosively. The door was unguarded. Sure, the larger part of the security staff was searching the grounds for the thief, but an appropriate number had been assigned to watch the house. Had all of them run off to find the source of the cry? It made no sense. That was a beginner’s mistake, and Jack hired only experts. Why would he have idiots watching his back?

  He hadn’t. This was simple, pure betrayal. Sam growled, remembering the twisted wreck of Jack’s car, the attacker in Chloe’s bedroom. Who else might be creeping around Oakwood’s halls? He cursed again, this time long and low.

  Sam bounded up the stairs, feet silent despite his size. He reached the second floor of Jack’s house, then the third. As he reached the landing, he froze, listening. Chloe? Was that her voice he’d heard? He ghosted forward, eyes searching the shadows for her door. It was shut, but where was Kenyon? A curse on that flea-ridden mutt!

  * * *

  After she’d locked Sam out of her bedroom, Chloe had tried to go to sleep. If she’d let herself analyze her thoughts, she would have realized she was too scared to sleep—but she couldn’t go there.

  If she did, she’d feel like a victim, and she’d felt that too many times before. When her parents died. When she’d been abandoned on what should have been the happiest day of her life—there was a special place in hell for grooms that backed out minutes before it was time to walk down the aisle. No, she wasn’t adding this episode to that box of extra-special horrific memories. She flatly refused.

  Instead, maybe she’d blame her insomnia on Sam for putting her hormones in overdrive. What girl could sleep after an eyeful of that white T-shirt and all the smoldering manly goodness underneath? And that sculpted mouth... The thought of Sam made her skin feel itchy in that so-good-it-hurt kind of way.

  He was just outside, watching over her. He was scary, but he was on her side.

  And he was panting. The sound was faint, muffled by the thick door, but in the absolute silence of the middle of the night she heard—something very weird.

  What on earth? Chloe sprang off the bed and raced to the door, pressing her ear to the heavy oak panel. She definitely heard heavy breathing, just outside. A chill crept over her skin as her imagination painted bizarre explanations for the sound. The more bizarre the better, because she was full up on real-life horror.

  What on earth could make that noise? Sam gasping his last breath as he was strangled by a giant squid? Zombie Sam slavering at the keyhole, hungry for her brains? Now I’m never going to sleep. Ever.

  Cautiously, she dragged the chair from under the knob and cracked the door open. She peered into the hallway, but it was too dark to make anything out. This was so weird. No one was watching her door. Irritation niggled around the edges of her fear. Now that she wanted Sam to be lurking outside, where the blazes was he?

  “Hello?” she said tentatively, clutching the thick folds of her terry cloth robe around her.

  She thought she heard a clicking sound and stared hard at the darkness. There was only one thing that made that sound—animal toenails. Panting plus clicking equaled dog, not squids or zombies. Boring, but a relief.

  But what dog? Jack had owned many pets over the years, but there were none at Oakwood right now. He’d been gone too much these past few years to look after one. Did the dog belong to the security guys? If so, why hadn’t she heard the footsteps of its handler?

  Maybe a stray was wandering the halls. After the intruder incident, the security guards were extra-jumpy. If the dog wasn’t theirs, they’d probably shoot it on sight. That thought wasn’t bearable. She had to be sure the animal was okay.

  Chloe quietly thumped her head on the edge of the door. This so wasn’t her night.

  Silently, not quite sure if she was being bold or stupid, Chloe crept into the hallway and glided for the staircase landing. She flicked on the light switch, the glow from the row of overhead chandeliers banishing the shadows. She looked down the hall, lit by a pool of light every few yards all the way to the end of the corridor. No one—with two or four feet—was in sigh
t.

  In the cold, clear sixty-watt light, Chloe felt tired and a bit ridiculous. She had to be hearing things. Surely, after the attack earlier that night, security had been drawn too tight for a mouse to get through, let alone something big enough to pant like that.

  But the guy who jumped you got in. She’d forced the event away from her imagination. Just a tiny bit. Just enough to function. But now the feel of her attacker’s hands forcing her into the mattress flooded back to her, and she shuddered violently.

  Suddenly, the noise she’d heard seemed far more sinister.

  “Sam!” This time she said it with a lot more force. “Sam?”

  Silence.

  She took a few steps down the hall where she thought she’d heard the clicking toenails. Then she saw it: a gray tail disappearing around the corner. So there is a dog! Pulling her robe closer, she hurried after it. It was headed toward one of the big third-floor bathrooms. The good news was, if she managed to herd the dog in there, it should be easy to shut the door and call someone to deal with it.

  The bad news was she had left the relative safety of her bedroom behind. Bad guys used animals to lure softhearted victims to their doom.

  Shivering, she broke into a trot, wanting to get this over with. She was nearly to the spot where she’d seen the tail disappear. The long terry robe tangled around her ankles, making her stumble. Yelping, she caught herself.

  An instant later, a huge, gray head poked out from around the corner. Chloe’s brain froze for a microsecond, her face going slack with astonishment. A wolf?

  But there it was, that creature staring at her with huge yellow eyes, red tongue lolling out from between sharp white teeth. Not a nice dog, but a gigantic, wild thing. She screamed for all she was worth. But there was hardly anyone left at Oakwood, and no one sleeping on her side of the building.

  There was just her and the great yellow-eyed creature, stuck in a staring contest. The wolf looked more wary than ferocious, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off it. The moment went on and on, a stalemate neither was willing to break. Finally, desperate to make the thing back off, she kicked off her mule slipper and slowly, slowly, bent down and picked it up. The wolf watched curiously, but didn’t budge. Chloe threw it, but her aim was bad. It bounced off the wall, ricocheting in front of the wolf’s nose.

  That startled the creature into skittering backward, giving her time to dive for the safety of the first open door. It was the bathroom. She barely reached it before the wolf was already behind her, filling the door frame and blocking any hope of retreat.

  Ironic, when her first thought was to trap the wandering dog in the very same room. Now the tables were turned. She scrabbled on the counter for something, anything to defend herself and came up with an aerosol can. She wheeled around, holding it in both hands. “Back off!” she warned. Her tone was clear, even if it wouldn’t understand the words.

  The wolf didn’t come any closer, but it didn’t budge. She glanced at the can’s label. It was that ghastly hairspray Aunt Mavis used, the kind that could hold a hairdo through a category three hurricane. She’d heard of women using the stuff like Mace. She aimed the nozzle at the wolf.

  “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll shoot.”

  It was hard to tell, but the beast looked confused. It tilted its head, ears swiveling in her direction.

  “Back off!” she snapped again, waving the can in hopes the wolf would get the message.

  By this point, her nerves were brittle enough to shatter. She’d nearly been killed once already tonight! Where were all the security guards who were supposed to rush in and save her? Her relatives? She heard conversation, doors shutting, but no one was storming to her rescue. Where was Sam? He’d promised to guard her, but the moment she’d needed him he had vanished.

  The wolf sat down, effectively trapping her. Hot, sweaty panic welled up, leaving her sick and shaking. She was in trouble, but no one was here to help her. Claustrophobia squeezed her chest. She had to get out of this bathroom!

  “Go away,” she shouted.

  The wolf barked, making her jump so hard her feet actually left the floor. Reflexively, she squeezed the nozzle of the can, releasing a hissing cloud of perfumed spray. The wolf staggered backward into the corridor with a ragged whine. The chemical reek of the spray clogged Chloe’s throat. She covered her nose with her terry-towel sleeve and blinked hard, but for a blessed moment the doorway was clear.

  Instinct kicked in. Chloe bolted for freedom, her bare feet hardly touching the floor.

  Then she saw security guards ahead, running toward her and raising their guns at the wolf. A few of the other guests were peering around corners, too frightened to come to her aid.

  “Don’t fire!” she yelped, afraid for herself, the bystanders and the wolf. She glanced behind her.

  Like a shaggy nightmare, the creature bounded after her, claws scraping and red tongue lolling. Chloe scrambled, running into the door frame in her haste to retreat. Her feet slithered on the hardwood as she tried to turn and shut the door.

  The wolf attempted to stop, all four legs going straight. Its nails skidded on the hardwood floor.

  Unsuccessfully. Golden eyes going wide with alarm, it bashed into her, the full weight of it colliding with her legs. Her feet flew out from under her and they both went down in a tangle of fur and terry cloth.

  The wolf made a pathetic whimper. Chloe sucked in a shallow breath, terrified that if she moved, if she attracted its attention, it would bite. The stink of hairspray pervaded the air, making her want to sneeze. She froze, fighting the fierce tickling in her nose and throat. A sneeze might startle it.

  It was a heavy beast, especially draped over her legs. The thick, coarse fur tickled and was disgustingly sticky with spray. Gingerly, she lifted her head a degree, peering down at it. The thing drooped its ears, giving her a wounded look with its great yellow eyes. Its ruff stuck up at odd angles, as if it was going for a fauxhawk.

  “Where did you come from, anyway?” she murmured, forgetting herself.

  It whined again, resting its chin on her knee, and gave a tentative tail wag. Apparently, it wasn’t going to eat her. Maybe it had eaten someone already. Maybe Aunt Mavis.

  At that thought, Chloe experienced a moment of mixed emotions.

  Now the security guys were crowding around. Sam burst through them, SIG Sauer drawn and searching out the enemy. When he saw Chloe, he lowered the gun, his gray eyes giving her a look that melted her where she lay. She immediately forgave him for being late.

  “You cried out.” His voice was thick with concern. With a jerk of his chin, he sent the other men away. Obviously used to his command, they went at once, herding the scatter of bystanders back to their rooms.

  Magnificent. It was the only word to describe Sam.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded.

  But unobservant. “I think so?” she replied from underneath the wolf.

  Sam snapped his fingers. The creature rose, shaking itself, and gave Sam a dirty look. Chloe felt tingling through her legs as circulation returned. She struggled to sit up. Sam glowered at the beast.

  “Is he yours?” she asked.

  “Sadly.”

  The wolf edged toward Chloe, its tail between its legs. Sam narrowed his eyes. Chloe started to rise, but the wolf leaned into her, burying its head against her shoulder.

  “Hey.” Startled, Chloe carefully scratched the wolf’s ears. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Such a big, handsome boy. I’m sorry I sprayed you, but you scared me.”

  The wolf wagged its tail, and she started to use both hands.

  “Heel,” Sam growled.

  The wolf gave a start at the sound of Sam’s voice, raising its head from Chloe’s embrace.

  “Now.”

  The wolf slunk to Sam’s side.

/>   “Why haven’t I seen him before?” Chloe asked.

  Sam’s eyes flicked to Chloe’s, then away. “I’ve been keeping him in the garden. I don’t know how he got into the house.”

  Chloe heard the lie, but couldn’t make sense of any of it. Her brain was too fogged with fatigue. Too preoccupied with the fact that, if the wolf hadn’t been tame, she might have ended up chow.

  Why had Sam left her alone and why had he just lied to her about having a pet? Big, strong and protective was great, but reliable and honest counted for plenty.

  He noticed her frown. “Chloe?”

  She shrugged, suddenly feeling a lot less forgiving. “It’s dangerous to let your furry friend roam. Something could happen to him.”

  The wolf licked his fur and made a gagging sound.

  “He’s a big boy. I’ve been thinking of sending him to obedience classes.” Sam offered her his hand.

  Chloe took it, letting him pull her to her feet. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “What else is there?”

  “I thought you were guarding my door.”

  “I was doing some investigating. I left someone to take my place, but he wandered off without authorization. We’re going to have words. Many words.” He glared at the wolf again.

  The hallway was empty now except for the three of them. Sam held her by her upper arms, so close that her robe brushed against him. “Chloe, I’m sorry.”

  She could see the darkness in his eyes again, just as it had been during that strangely charged moment in her bedroom. His look was one of possession, fired now by the adrenaline of the moment. He had come to save her—from where, she couldn’t say. The damp scent of the night clung to him, enticing in its mystery.

  At that moment she realized that she’d leaned into him. Something about the man drew her like a magnet. She tilted her face up, staring into his steel-gray eyes. The need she saw there made her pulse kick up a notch, beating hard and thick in her throat. Suddenly the terry cloth robe was too hot, suffocating instead of cozy. She had a mad urge to peel it off, and then the nightshirt she wore under it, too. It was a fleeting, silly notion but it still wound through her thoughts, tempting her to give in to the demand implicit in that possessive look. Chloe tightened her belt, fighting an aching need to respond. Blood flooded to her face, chased there by the boldness of her thoughts.