Possessed by a Warrior

by Sharon Ashwood

  He gave a lopsided smile. “Feelings and logic don’t always go together.”

  “Nonetheless, I don’t like counting on people. It makes me feel safer to stand on my own two feet.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being independent.” Sam put a hand on her waist, stroking her ribs lightly with his thumb. “But don’t think your parents didn’t want to be there for you. And I don’t know if Jack could have done anything different. He was my friend and we worked closely together, but there are a lot of things about him that I’m just finding out.”

  “Are you trying to say Jack’s secrecy was nothing personal?” The feel of his hand made her want to curl into him. Her thoughts struggled to stay with the conversation.

  “I’m sure of it in your case. I’m still trying to decide that in mine.” Disappointment colored his expression. “He trusted you to do the right thing. Hang on to that.”

  “He trusted you, too.”

  He gave her an odd look. “I hope so.”

  “Have you found anything out about the thief? Or his murder?”

  For once, he didn’t shy away from answering. “I can tell you that there are no guests registered in the area who are likely suspects. Kenyon and I have been going through the names.”

  “Is that all?”

  “So far.”

  “I don’t want to be shut out.”

  “I get that.” His hand slid to the small of her back. “I’m on your side, remember?”

  She swayed into him and he reciprocated, letting the hard length of him brush against her hip. Suddenly everything felt so right. Trust Sam.

  She ran her hands over his shoulders, enjoying their massive strength beneath the fine wool of his jacket. He was giving her his signature smile, the barest hint of amusement curling the corners of his mouth. His gaze roved over her in a way that brought heat to her skin, setting every nerve tingling.

  Her touch strayed from his shoulders, trailing down his arms. They were thick with muscle, strong in a way that appealed to the most primitive part of her brain. The fact that she was holding him like this, her fingers spanning this much pure male power, sent a ripple of need low in her body. If he had taken her then and there, she would have been ready.

  His eyes darkened, as if he sensed the change in her.

  Impulsively, she put one hand on either side of his face, caressing the hard, strong bones of his cheek and jaw. His cheeks felt rough with beard against her palms. She pulled his head down to press her lips against his. Firm and swift, she caught him before he could resist.

  And gave a cry when something sharp poked her lip. She broke the kiss. “Ow!”

  A salty, metallic taste teased her tongue. Blood.

  Instantly, Sam turned away.

  Ugh. Embarrassing. “I’m sorry, honestly. Too much enthusiasm.”

  Much more slowly, Sam turned back to her, his color high. He had one hand to his mouth, as though she’d bruised him. “It’s okay.”

  The words came out in a mumble. His eyes were nearly black, as if the pupil had expanded to fill the steel-gray irises. The room was dim, but she could see hunger in those black depths. Chloe shivered, falling back a step. There was a look men got when they wanted a woman. This was it to the umpteenth power.

  “Okay, then,” she breathed, her stomach going cold with unease and then melty with the need to answer that look.

  Then, quick as if he’d flipped a switch, the look was gone, the emotion behind it locked away behind the wall of his self-control. Chloe blinked, wondering if she had seen it at all.

  Tentatively, she reached out. She had to apologize to know what he was thinking.

  It wasn’t to be. He flinched away as if her fingers burned white-hot. Without another word, Sam walked out of the room, his shoulders hunched and his hand still over his mouth.

  Embarrassment twisted through her, sending heat flaring up her cheeks. She could run after him, or she could stay frozen in abject humiliation. But what would she say when she caught up to him? Sorry I knocked out a tooth, but it means I like you?

  Feeling twelve, she stayed put, as if her feet were nailed to the carpet. What was that look? Had it really been there? Had she ruined everything?

  Chloe fell onto the library’s leather couch and breathed a curse to the rain outside. She touched her lip. It felt hot and sore, but there was no more blood. It had barely been a scratch, but obviously Sam was hurt.

  How humiliating. She should have agreed to go home when this whole mess had first started. She buried her face in her hands.

  Now she’d be known by all the Men in Black as the little wedding planner who kissed like a battering ram.

  Chapter 14

  It wasn’t exactly news that he was a slavering beast. Sam just considered it a private matter. One didn’t let those hang out in public.

  Humiliating. Sam stomped down the basement stairs of Jack’s mansion, feeling like Dracula returning to his lair. Cue the spooky organ music.

  The problem with pretty girls was that, in their warm, soft way, they brought out a vampire’s fangs. As if men didn’t have enough involuntary physical reactions to deal with. Usually Sam’s control was much, much better, but Chloe was in a league of temptation all her own.

  As if things weren’t already complicated enough. Sam slammed the door to Jack’s office. His real office, not the study Chloe was using. This room wasn’t all fine furniture and frilly china. This had a plain desk, several computers and not much else. All business. The door, hidden in the mansion’s vault of a basement, was coded to chip cards only Jack and Sam possessed.

  He flung himself into the squeaky desk chair. He wanted to break something. Assert his will. Prove that he had force and power. He was War. He wasn’t a teenaged boy awkwardly asking for his first dance.

  Cursing, he poked the desktop monitor to life. A log-in box popped up. While Sam typed in his Company email ID and password, his thoughts returned to Chloe. They’d done that every five seconds or so since the first moment he’d met her.

  He had to make a decision. Not that there were any real options, of course, but just pretending that it would be okay to have an affair with a human woman—and Jack’s niece to boot... Even wanting it seemed like folly.

  Pre-vampire Sam had carried on functional relationships. Post-vampire War had lovers, but not women he loved. He’d learned the hard way to steer clear of such weakness. Until Chloe. For her, he could see staying in one place, going to bed with her every day, guarding her through the journey of her life.

  Clearly he was losing his mind. If he took one of those magazine tests to find out who his ideal mate might be, Sam Ralston should be sending flowers to a wolverine. He was a predator with healthy self-esteem and a triple-A-plus alpha rating.

  Which was all true, except when it wasn’t. Part of him was still just Sam, terrified of what he’d become and afraid he was going to hurt someone he loved.

  Disgusted with himself, he two-finger typed his way to his email. There was a message from Winspear. It was typically brief. “Death’s medical file predates skeletal identification program. No comparison films on record.”

  So, Jack never got around to doing the full-body X-rays. Sam shut the email with a curse. It was just an X-ray, Jack. Couldn’t you have done that much for us? But no, that would have been too much like paperwork. Not Jack’s thing. Neither, apparently, was turning in the crown jewels when they found their way into his personal safe.

  Was Sam the only one who ever followed the rules? Who did his job because he’d taken an oath to say that he would?

  A memory surged up of a crowded dance floor. Girls in scraps of dresses, Sam assigned to watch over them. It hadn’t been his comfort zone. Parachute him into a jungle, give him a mountain to climb, and he was in heaven. But this time the jungle cats wore
human faces. He was trained to spot the enemy, but it was harder when they looked exactly the same as the victims—kids on a dance floor, having fun.

  He had been Princess Amelie’s bodyguard. The shooter who had tried to kill her—and ended up killing the princess’s friend instead—had been little more than a boy.

  The kid had looked utterly blank, as if he’d just happened to be holding the gun at the time. Sam hadn’t hesitated to bring him down, but he’d still been too late. Despite metal detectors and pat-downs, the guards had somehow let the boy into the club with a weapon.

  Sam had been uneasy that night and had wanted to put his own men on the doors. But he hadn’t because Carter had specifically told him to leave the usual security in place. War followed orders, especially Carter’s orders. He was the weapon, not the hand that wielded it. And didn’t that work out well? he mused bitterly. The guards had turned out to be traitors. The boy had claimed he had no recollection of the incident—almost like he’d been the victim of vampire mind control.

  Impossible, of course. Why would any of the vampires hurt the princess?

  That was just one more good question to tighten the knot in Sam’s stomach. The incident had shaken his faith in those around him. Sam had started thinking a little harder about his orders since that night, an unease that had haunted him since.

  He was thinking about his orders now.

  So what was Carter’s point about the other Horsemen? Kenyon and Winspear made good suspects. As well as having the right skills, they were close to the victim and involved in the investigation. Absolutely true. But Carter had no proof. Why sow distrust without something to back up those accusations?

  He turned the question around. Why would Carter, iron hand of the Company’s vampires, want Sam to believe his friends were traitors? Good question. Carter considered himself a one-person crusade against vampire-kind’s vile instincts. Fierce discipline alone made these mad dogs into obedient warriors for good. Sam had always believed him.

  Yet Chloe insisted that Sam wasn’t a monster. She contradicted Carter’s pus-and-evil assessment of true vampire nature. She had no idea he was the walking dead, but otherwise she was pretty perceptive. Sam didn’t want to dismiss her opinion out of hand.

  Then again, Carter should know how bloodsuckers thought. He’d been undead longer than any of them, except maybe Winspear. Had one of the Company’s vampires suddenly lost their scruples and decided to steal the diamonds?

  “No,” Sam said out loud. “I don’t buy it.” If it had been outright theft, why sew them onto a dress? That made no sense.

  This is what Chloe meant when she said lack of information makes her nervous. Sam felt a surge of sympathy for her. Unfortunately, she had to be kept in the dark. Everything about this case—about Sam—was a secret. If she found out what he was, he would have to make sure her memories were erased. If it ever got out that Sam had revealed what he was and let her walk away, it could mean death for them both. Carter’s rules.

  A sick feeling invaded Sam’s gut, as if something noxious was seeping upward from the floor. He had to let Chloe go. Anything else was unfair to both of them—but he couldn’t walk away until she was safe. That meant getting the dress back to the palace as soon as possible.

  Carter was waiting in the wings to do just that. But, good Company soldier or not, Sam wasn’t ready to hand it over. With Chloe involved, he wasn’t taking any chances until he was absolutely sure of what was going on. He’d made the mistake of going against his gut instincts that night in the dance club, and right now there were far too many unanswered questions.

  Speaking of which...

  He logged in to a restricted part of the Company’s security system, then another, passing through firewall after firewall to access the database that listed agents. Sam had higher clearance than most.

  He typed in the name “Jessica Lark” and then hit Search.

  The database returned a terse message: Deceased. Special division.

  So she was an agent! It had been a wild guess, but he’d been right. A tingle of satisfaction passed through him. He was finally getting somewhere.

  There was a picture. It wasn’t a portrait, but a candid shot taken in front of the Algonquin Hotel in New York City. Jessica Lark had been a beautiful woman. I should have listened to Chloe. She hit on the truth when she couldn’t even understand what it meant. The woman’s instincts were downright scary.

  He stared at the monitor, his world doing that kaleidoscope shift all over again. Lark wasn’t the only person in the picture. Between one cursor blink and the next, he thought he understood what was going on. Horror turned him cold, and for a brief instant he prayed he had it all wrong.

  Chapter 15

  Not long after, Sam tracked Chloe to the garden. He had two purposes in mind. The first was to listen again to what she knew about Jessica Lark. The second was to persuade her to accept a security detail for her afternoon appointment. Simply announcing that it was going to happen had brought out her difficult side, blast it. He had to regroup and try a gentler tone. That was going to take some imagination on his part. War wasn’t used to saying “please.”

  She was walking slowly under the twisting branches of the Garry oaks, her head bent in thought. He studied her, squinting against the sun despite his sunglasses and the overcast sky. The sun hurt him, a hot pressure against his skin, sharp knives to his sensitive eyes. Still, if the outdoors was where Chloe was to be found, that was where he would go.

  She’d slipped a loose sweater over her blouse and wore low-heeled canvas shoes with a pattern of pink and green flowers. Sam thought he could see glimpses of the girl she had been when Jack had brought her, an orphan, into his house.

  He cursed whoever had killed her parents. When he was done with this case, he would look at their file. He couldn’t bring them back, but perhaps he could offer Chloe some justice.

  He liked that idea. A lot. “Chloe.”

  She looked up, surprise lighting her face. “I’m sorry. I hope your tooth is okay.”

  Sam’s step hitched. For a blessed moment, he’d forgotten about the dental incident. “I’ll survive.”

  Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. In the hazy gray of the overcast afternoon, her skin was a shade of tawny pearl, lightly freckled where the sun had touched it. Sam’s fingers yearned to tame the wisps of hair blowing across her cheeks. He dared not risk it. He wanted her so badly that touching her invited his beast. He could at least begin the conversation minus the slavering fangs.

  “I don’t usually kiss like it’s a contact sport,” she grumbled.

  “The idea has interesting possibilities. I’m curious about penalty shots.”

  That earned him a dark look. “Really, I’m better than that.”

  “I know.”

  He could feel his resolve crumbling. Her essence was more powerful than all of War’s arsenal of strength and speed. The most he could do was try to stick to business.

  He had to. What he’d realized when he’d opened Lark’s file—or as much of it as his clearance allowed—had him worried. It confirmed his decision to keep the dress until he absolutely understood what was going on.

  “Tell me again about Jessica Lark,” he said, moving to the shadier side of the path.

  “I don’t know much more than what I already told you. One thing, though. I found her signature on the wedding gown.” Chloe folded her arms, hugging herself. “I emailed a picture to someone who knows the designers. She wrote back this morning and confirmed it was Lark’s. That means, even without the jewels, that dress is worth a small fortune.”

  Sam digested that. “How did Jack say he knew Lark?”

  Chloe shrugged. “He knew all kinds of people.”

  The walk curved around a pond bordered by trailing willows. Ducks paddled across the surface, chuckling softly
amongst themselves. Chloe stopped, pulling off one of her flats to empty out a stone. Her toenails were painted a pale pink.

  Sam watched the play of bones and tendons in her slender foot. He had been born in a time when women hid their ankles. He suddenly understood why. They could be incredibly erotic. His blood stirred in an extremely unhelpful way. “Maybe one of Jack’s girlfriends knew Lark? Bought from her collection?”

  “No. I remember now.” Her voice gained energy as she spoke. “It had something to do with old books. Jack was a collector. So was she. They met at an auction.”

  She smiled up at him, obviously pleased to be helpful. It was adorable.

  It was also useful information. If Lark was an undercover agent, she would have needed a reason to publicly associate with Jack. That, in turn, might give a clue as to what she was involved with. “Any particular area of interest?”

  Chloe pulled her shoe back on, wriggling her heel into place. “Occult stuff. Jack has some odd manuscripts. He let me look at them whenever I liked.”

  Sam looked at her sharply. “Really?”

  “He had a thing about vampires.”

  Shock slammed into him, his chest squeezing with alarm. “What?” Had Jack lost his mind? Vampires never showed an open interest in the occult, in case it raised questions.

  Chloe turned, walking backward a few steps while she studied his face. She’d seen that moment of astonishment. “Yeah. He was an avid collector. Everything from Renaissance books of magic down to plastic teeth. It was his main hobby.”

  Sam took a deep breath, trying to still his churning stomach. “Why do you think he was so interested?”

  “Maybe it was because he lived like a creature of the night. Up all hours. Bad diet. Coming and going without warning. Went through women like snack food. He was a great uncle, but he had his quirks.”

  The way she said it, so offhand, softened Sam’s sense of alarm. “Did you talk about it much?”