Possessed by a Warrior

by Sharon Ashwood

  Sleep. He was nowhere near the mind sage Winspear was, but he could guide her the rest of the way into slumber. Sleep, Chloe.

  Her limbs grew heavier where she lay. He shifted, grabbing a towel to blot the water from her face. She was so beautiful, it made his chest ache. He pressed the towel gently to her cheeks and forehead, squeezing the water from her hair gone dark with its soaking.

  When he had gazed his fill, Sam lifted her from the water, setting her gently on the thick white bathroom carpet. He dried the rest of her, and wrapped her in the robe he had dropped to the floor. Without bothering to do more than tie a towel around his hips, he carried Chloe to her bed and tucked her in it before she could catch a chill.

  It was midnight. The witching hour.

  Sam stood beside her bed, knowing what it was to be thoroughly bewitched. He had gone to Chloe planning to reassure her, to tell her somehow they’d stay together, even if that meant disappearing to places not even the Company could follow. War was still the best.

  They’d never got to the talking part.

  Surely she’d understood what he’d meant.

  Chapter 26

  Sam returned to the bathroom to dress. In the process, he found his phone and dialed a number. He started picking up wet towels while the cell rang, putting the bathroom back in some sort of order.

  “Carter,” came the gruff voice of his maker.

  “It’s Sam.”

  “When can I get the dress?”

  The memory of Pietro’s cracking neck bones came flooding back. Why do you, the director of the Company, want to take it back on your own, with no escort? That made no sense.

  Sam had every intention of taking the dress back himself. If Carter was on the level, he would be annoyed but content as long as the dress made it home safely. If he wasn’t—well, Sam didn’t much care if he was angry, then. They’d be locked in a battle to the death.

  The fact that he could even think that about the man he honored as a second father said too much about Sam’s suspicions.

  “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “You know I’m always here for you, boy.” Carter’s voice took on a homey singsong. A simple man with simple loyalties, it seemed to say.

  “Had you ever met Pietro before?”

  “No, of course not.” His voice said clearly this wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have.

  Sam hung up the last towel. “He seemed to know you. He kept calling you boss. He didn’t know Winspear’s name.”

  “Like I said, Winspear must be using an alias. Winspear is an alias. You know as well as I do he’s a Johnny-come-lately to the Company.”

  “Then how would the Knights know his information was of any value? You would think a strange vampire appearing at their doorstep would be staked. He must have credentials of some kind.”

  Carter was silent for a moment. “Winspear played a game darker than any of us really know. He was a trained assassin from the time of the Borgias. I’m sure he has credibility with all kinds of lowlife.”

  “True.”

  “Of course it’s true.”

  “Unfortunate that Pietro died before we got more answers.” Sam pushed a window open to let out the steam from the bath. The air smelled like Chloe’s perfume.

  “Don’t criticize, boy. We were never going to get anything of value there.”

  How do you know? You broke his neck the moment he accused you of being a liar. Sam’s gut knotted to a hard lump. “I worry Winspear is going to return here. He knows the layout. The staff trust him.”

  “You’re worried about the girl.”

  “Chloe? Yes. She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

  “She’s a human and irrelevant. Vampires who moon after mortal women lose themselves.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They mate them. They feed so often they turn the women.” Carter’s voice was thick with disgust. “Female vampires. No better than succubi.”

  But that woman and her mate are together forever. His heart lifted.

  But Carter wasn’t done. “And the men are useless afterward. Their loyalties are always with their women first. What good is that to the Company? They should owe their loyalty to me first and always.”

  Sam froze, really listening to what Carter was saying. Carter had made the rules about fraternizing with humans. The real reason he didn’t like his warriors finding mates is because it eclipsed his authority. It was a question of power. You keep us alone because you want to keep us obedient.

  Anger burned through Sam, his muscles tightening to the point of pain. Why hadn’t he seen this before? Mind you, the only other time it had come up, Sam had barely become a vampire.

  There had been his wife, Amy. He’d loved her fiercely, and still did. She’d been a woman of her time, gently raised and groomed to be a pillar of polite society. She’d had him wrapped around her delicate white fingers from the time he was in long pants.

  After he’d been turned, he’d tried to go home, to find his wife in the country retreat up north where she’d taken the children. It hadn’t worked. At the time, the thrill of having his new powers was impossible to conceal. After Carter had worked his dark magic, Sam had not only the semblance of life, but the strength of a Titan. He’d reveled in it. He hadn’t tried to hide it.

  His reunion with Amy had been the disaster of a single night. By dawn, she’d fled with the children, terrified that her husband had been possessed by devils. In some measure, she’d been right.

  Carter intervened, blurring Amy’s memories. She’d spent the next year in a nurse’s care. Grief, they’d called it. She’d only imagined that he’d come home because she wanted it so badly.

  It had been then that Carter had given him the script. War wasn’t made for love. Amy’s mental breakdown was Sam’s doing. And his children? Sam had watched them grow and have children of their own, but he hadn’t dared come near them. What evil might he have sown in their lives? He had no choice but loneliness. He would destroy every human he loved.

  Carter had known what damage a newly turned fledgling could do. He’d helped Sam convince himself of his own beastliness.

  For centuries, Sam had felt a grief so deep it had no words.

  “About the dress,” Carter was saying.

  Sam snapped back to the present, his gut a knot of hot, hard fury. “I can’t get it right now. The place is crawling with humans. There is a wedding here in the morning. It will be much quieter after tomorrow.”

  Carter was silent for a moment. “We’ll be in touch.”

  The line went dead, the silence filling Sam with disquiet. Personal issues aside, there were too many things that didn’t add up. For one thing, if his maker had the authority of the King of Marcari behind him, why didn’t he simply come forward openly? And where did Winspear fit into this? Were they working together?

  He is my maker. He gave me life. He made me War.

  The loyalties of so many years didn’t die easily. His chest felt heavy, as if his heart had suddenly turned to a lump of iron.

  Sam slipped back into Chloe’s bedroom. She was curled on her side like a kitten, her knees drawn up into a ball. We could be together forever.

  Carter forbade it.

  Unless I break every rule in the book. Unless I find a way to be with her. Unless he turned his back on the Company. He would always honor the Throne, he had always been Marcari’s ultimate champion, but how could he follow a maker who condemned him to darkness?

  Maybe it was time War chose his own battles. It meant breaking every other bond he had, but what would he not give for a chance at real happiness?

  She’s mine. Did he seriously think he could give Chloe up? Not bloody likely. Straight arrows could have different targets, ones of their own devising. />
  Sam turned that idea over the way one might a candy melting on the tongue. Slowly, leisurely, tasting the pungent sweetness of disobedience.

  He slid under the covers, curling around her, and held her as she slept.

  * * *

  Chloe woke alone. If her memories were befuddled for the first sixty seconds, her body was quick to remind her exactly what she’d been doing and how many times. For a moment, her breath left her, staggered by the memory. She fell back on the pillows, luxuriating in the sensations replaying themselves through her every cell.

  The wedding!

  She sat up so fast her head swam. Chloe stumbled to her dresser, groping for her phone. She hadn’t set the alarm and panic was starting to ramp up inside her. What time was it? She had a wedding to put on.

  At the same time, Sam’s words replayed in her head. I’m not ready to let you go. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.

  Okay, so that was pretty straightforward, but what did it mean in practical terms? The mind-blowing sex was lovely, but when her life and her brain were at stake, she needed specifics. She had to talk to him.

  She finally found her phone and thumbed it to life. Seven o’clock. She’d meant to get up at four. Geez! Chloe ran for her closet.

  * * *

  When she reached the teeming kitchens, Faran was already there. He’d been better than his word, not just helping with the menu but helping to cook it, too. His whites were splashed with food and he was piping something into tart shells at lightning speed. “These are savories,” he said with a grin. “My own recipe. The venison is locally sourced. I, uh, hunted it myself.”

  Racks of finished tarts were set out to cool. They looked and smelled delicious, the crusts exactly the right shade of golden-brown. Chloe gave him her best smile, refusing to grapple with the image of Fido versus Bambi. I hope there aren’t any dog hairs in it. “They smell fabulous,” she said.

  “Thanks.” With only a cloth to protect his fingers, he pulled an enormous pan of the tarts out of the oven, releasing a mouthwatering cloud of warm spices. “I’ll serve these with a piquant currant coulis.”

  “Sounds perfect.” She had to shout over the clamor of pots and urgent voices bouncing off miles of stainless steel. It was at least a thousand degrees in there.

  “The cake arrived,” he put in. “It’s in the walk-in for now.”

  “Did you look at it?”

  “It’s a bit purple, but it’s a bit late to do anything about it.”

  Chloe took a look inside the fridge. Okay. The cake was huge, and when assembled would create a castle a good five feet tall. Chloe had asked for something in a mauve, but Faran was right. The baker had got into the spirit of the moment. The cake was a psychedelic purple, the surrounding hill a lime-green. The dragon clinging to the main tower was every bit as tall as the castle itself. When the dry ice was activated, curls of smoke would drift from the creature’s nostrils. It was playful, colorful and full of personality. Elaine was going to love it.

  Faran pushed through the crowd and stood beside her, wiping his hands on his apron. “When do you need to serve this?”

  “It has to be on display by three o’clock. That’s when the reception starts.”

  “All you can do now is embrace it’s quirky spirit.” He was staring at the cake, doing his best to keep a straight face.

  “Mrs. Fallon is going to freak.”

  “Well, she likes unicorns. Unicorns might live in a bright purple castle.”

  Chloe kissed his cheek. “I’ve got it covered. I found dozens of tiny medieval toys. Knights. Unicorns. Fair ladies. The display is going to be a fabulous tableau.”

  Faran gave her a high five.

  Outside, the sky was hazy with cloud, but it looked like the kind that would burn off after a few hours. Her staff was putting up the ribbons and bunting, decorating the chairs where the ceremony would be held, and setting up sound equipment under one of the pavilions. The champagne fountain was going to be a popular spot, so Chloe ordered another few cases be brought up just in case. Then she stopped to change the location where the string quartet was supposed to go. At the last minute, Iris Fallon had fired the harpist, since she wouldn’t play suspended over the pool in a mermaid costume or wearing angel wings. The string players had thankfully been left unmolested in their tuxedos.

  Chloe stopped in the barn to check on the faux unicorn. The horse, despite the shiny gold hooves, looked reasonably content. All in all, things were going fairly well.

  By the time the ballroom, large dining room and the retiring rooms for the wedding party were perfect, the clock had jumped forward to noon. Guests were arriving in droves. Chloe felt like a mechanical car racing around a track, moving faster with every lap.

  The wedding party was arriving. Oh, crumb. That meant Mrs. Fallon was on-site.

  Chloe got the bride and her maids into their dressing room, ducked Iris and scurried off to make sure the group of madrigal singers knew where they were supposed to go.

  One group of security had set up by the twin oak trees at the gate of the drive. They were stopping every car that came in, checking identification against the guest list. It was more stringent scrutiny than any other wedding Chloe had managed, but with the diamonds, the cream of the business and social worlds, and stray maniacs on the loose, it seemed prudent. Thankfully, the visitors were accepting it with good grace.

  As she passed the gate, Sam caught her arm. He was wearing his industrial-strength sunglasses, and she realized they no longer bothered her. Now she understood exactly why he wore them. According to everything in Uncle Jack’s vampire memorabilia, the undead were nocturnal creatures.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, his voice like a caress.

  “Good.” Chloe leaned in to his touch. She wanted to talk about last night, but now wasn’t the moment to discuss it. Until the ceremony had started, she would barely have time to think, let alone wrap her head around something as important as their future. “The guests are coming thick and fast. How’s the security? Do we have enough bodies?”

  Sam nodded, slipping back into guard mode. “I’ve called Gravesend to send out a few dozen more. I think we have enough on-site, but I’d rather overdo it. After all, Oakwood has two hundred acres to keep track of. As it is we can’t cover the whole perimeter. I’d rather set up patrols just in case.”

  Whatever Sam thought was a good idea was fine with her. “Perfect. Thanks. I’ll find you later.” She kissed him lightly and hurried off, leaving him alone in the shadow of the shattered oak tree where Jack had died.

  She checked her phone again. Half an hour until the ceremony started. Everything was in place. Now she just had to cross her fingers and hope. She started back for the house, taking the shortcut between the overflow garage and the building where maintenance had its workshop.

  A man was leaning against the side of the garage, smoking a cigar. She didn’t recognize him, but given the crowd that wasn’t a surprise. She nodded and smiled. He smiled back and stepped into her path.

  “Hello, my girl,” he said in a gruff voice. The man had a mane of gray-streaked hair and sunglasses much like Sam’s. “Are you Chloe, Jack’s niece?”

  She stopped, wanting to get past him so she could begin herding the bridal party into place. Something always went wrong at the very last moment. But she fell back on good manners. “Yes, sir, I’m Chloe Anderson.”

  He rolled his cigar between thumb and forefinger. “My name is Aldous Carter. I was a friend to your uncle as I am to young Sam.”

  Chloe tensed. Anyone who described Sam as young either didn’t know him very well, or was himself one of the undead. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “I’m sure you are.” He took a puff on the cigar, the pungent scent of it tickling Chloe’s nose. “Jack left you something I want. Sam seems reluct
ant to get it for me.”

  Chloe’s alarm bells went off. It was too far to run back to the gate, especially in the shoes she was wearing, and the space between the two buildings was hidden from view. Anyone making a circuit of the grounds was sure to walk past without noticing.

  Chloe decided to brazen it out. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I am organizing this wedding, Mr. Carter. I need to get back to the house. The ceremony is going to start shortly.”

  She started forward, prepared to shoulder her way past, but he raised his arm, planting his hand against the side of the workshop. Chloe stopped, her way effectively barred.

  “I don’t think so.” Carter smiled. “You’re my bargaining chip. Sam won’t listen to me, but he wants you badly. If he’s as far gone as I think, a fortune in diamonds is nothing compared to a chance to get between your legs again.”

  Chloe gasped, not at the vulgarity of what he said, but at the feel of cold iron against the back of her dress.

  “Oh, yes,” said Carter. “I brought some friends with me. I think you already met the late Pietro. Let me introduce you to his brothers.”

  “You were working with him?” she gasped. They’d all thought Mark Winspear was the traitor, but they’d been wrong.

  He leaned forward, his face an inch from hers. “Still pleased to make my acquaintance, little girl?”

  The words, and the way he said them, resonated through her. This was the man she’d shot in the foot the night she’d followed Sam into the garden! Chloe’s throat closed with terror.

  Chapter 27

  Where am I?

  Chloe gasped as the hood was pulled from her head. The air was stale, but far better than the sour-smelling cloth that had been jammed against her face. Her momentary relief was almost instantly replaced by fresh apprehension. Wherever they were, it was dark and damp and all too dungeonlike for comfort.

  Anger choked her before she could frame any questions. Anger, laced with panic. Chloe struggled against the zip tie Pietro’s brothers had used to bind her hands. They’d mercifully left her feet unbound, but she wasn’t running anywhere. They’d shoved her into a chair, and Carter was looming over her, a flunky to either side. She was a bird surrounded by hungry cats.