by Lynda Aicher
She turned her focus back to Damian. The wound on his shoulder was still bloody, crisp and painful looking. He was a little pale, but considering he had been basically passed out and unconscious just a few minutes ago, he looked remarkably good. The relief that flooded her was more than just the basic thankfulness that he’d be okay. She was smart enough to recognize just how attached she was becoming to him. The thought of losing him went far deeper than the simple fear of losing the man who offered her protection.
“How are you feeling?”
His features tightened before he paused in his own surveillance of the room to look down at his shoulder. He shifted the injured shoulder around, wincing slightly before he stopped the movement.
“Better,” he finally answered. He lifted his gaze to hers. “Thanks to you.”
“Yeah,” she scoffed. “Thanks to me, you were injured in the first place.”
“No. Thanks to you I’m up and walking already.” The firm timbre of his voice negated her instant surge of denial. “It was your power, the energy you pulled in at the tower that infused me and accelerated the healing.”
She shook her head, clenched her lips and looked away. “I don’t understand.” She blinked back the stinging that sparked and burned in her eyes. “I’m sick of not understanding.”
Damn it. She would not cry now. Not in front of him. Inhaling through her nose, she forced her muscles to relax with the slow exhale. With effort, she returned her gaze to meet his. The concern she saw there almost undid her. Almost. Because it couldn’t be real.
“You’ve been through a lot today.” He lifted his hand to brush her hair off her shoulder so it rested down her back. “You’ve faced every obstacle thrown at you, every wild truth despite their impossibilities, and you didn’t crumble or cower from them. That takes strength. Courage. So give yourself a break. Understanding will come.”
The sudden warmth that flooded her had nothing to do with the stone or energy. He looked so honest, sincere in what he said. Like he believed his words.
“Why do you care? Only hours ago you were offering me up as a sacrifice to your people. A pawn in your game of redemption.”
He sighed, clenched his hands on his waist and dropped his head to let it sag in a brief pose of guilt. Her heart seized, betraying just how important his answer was to her.
Straightening his back, he met her gaze. His lips thinned, but his eyes pierced her with their intensity. “I will always regret that. If I had listened to the instinct that burned within me, I would have never turned you over.” He stepped closer, a move that put him firmly in her space, but it wasn’t an attempt at intimidation. Instead, it was comforting. “If I listen to the energy, trust it as I’ve told you to do, I’d believe that you are the one for me.”
Her lips parted slightly, the air slowly leaving her constricted chest. He brushed his fingers over her cheek until he cupped the side of her face in his palm. His energy whipped through her from the simple touch, pouring out of his palm to burn her insides. The hunger weakened her knees and scorched her throat to the dryness of a barren desert.
“If I ignore the prophecies, the absent words of faceless spirits, I know that you are all that is good. The white bird is as evil as my white dragon. I don’t care what everyone else thinks. What they say. If I trust the energy—” He cursed softly, then swallowed. “If I trust the energy, then I care about nothing but you.”
His eyes burned with the conviction of his words. She wanted to believe him. The urge to lean into him, to simply shift forward and let him catch her, was almost too powerful to resist. But there was more. More to him and to everything that was happening. If she trusted the energy like he was urging her to, then she needed to know what that more was before she could surrender.
“Why is it so hard for you to trust the energy?” she probed, treading as gently as the reedy currents warned her to. “What happened that has led you to doubt exactly what you tell me to believe?” He flinched ever so slightly, but she caught the movement and pushed anyway. “How can I trust the energy when you don’t?”
“An excellent question, young one.” The voice shot through the silence, breaking the moment with the sharp force of a pickaxe.
Damian turned, his hand reaching for the knife strapped to his back and letting it fly in one smooth motion. The weapon shot through the air toward the wiry Asian man who had appeared behind him.
In a blink, the man disappeared. In his absence, the knife speared the wood wall with a dull thud and stuck. Fuck. How had he let someone sneak in behind him? A juvenile mistake.
“I am not your enemy,” the voice said from behind him again.
Damian spun, reaching for another knife as he moved.
“You,” Amber exclaimed as she pointed at the man. Her other hand slammed over her chest as she shuffled away from the intruder. “No. You can’t have it back.”
Amber’s face was etched with panic, her hand clutched possessively around the stone that hung under the jacket. Damian recognized the man as the Spirit Ancient from the alley in New York City. The one who’d rattled off the prophecy and disappeared.
Protect. Defend. Save. The words slammed into Damian as he shoved Amber behind him.
“I do not want the stone back,” the man calmly stated. “It belongs to you. If that were not true, then I never would have given it to you.”
Damian kept the knife raised and ready. “Who are you? What do you want with us?”
“I want nothing from you,” the man said, stepping forward until he stood within the shaft of light that sliced out from the cracked doorway. “I brought you here to give you a moment of safety. To rest and heal before your journey continues.”
Amber pushed her head around Damian’s side, his tight grip on her arm preventing her from moving completely out from behind him.
“Why?” she demanded, her voice strong despite the anxiety he felt coursing through her. “Why do you keep coming to me?”
The thin Asian man tilted his head, and the two strips of white hair that hung like long ropes from the ends of his Fu Manchu mustache swayed in time with the movement. “Why?” he repeated, a note of curiosity in his voice. “Because you need help and I can provide it.”
The white silk of his loose, traditional Chinese jacket rustled softly as his hands rose from their position behind his back until he held them toward Damian and Amber in a show of trust. “You called for safety, Amber. The energy answered and, with my help, brought you here. Trust the energy to heed your call and keep you safe.”
“How do you know my name?” Amber demanded before Damian could. What game was the Ancient playing?
The man smiled mysteriously, letting his hands fall back to his sides. “Because you are the Marked One. Because I am old and know more than you. I trust the energy. It talks to me. I listen.”
Damian inhaled and reached out across the energy, letting the vibrations flow around him. The power assaulted him in a gust of brute force, but it was not malevolent.
“Again, Ancient. Why are we here?” Damian demanded.
“Because the Chosen One has found the Marked One,” the man calmly replied.
Damian’s jaw tightened against the implication, an instant rejection of the statement. But this was the second time in a day he’d been told that. By two men he did not know, both telling him to believe. Was it true? Damian told Amber to believe, should he?
“There’s no way I can be this Chosen One, a title I’d never heard of before today,” Damian deflected, the cynicism dripping from his voice. He speared the Ancient with a cold stare, daring him to contradict his word. “Chosen inspires the connotation of someone special. Someone picked from the crowd to do something or be something special. We both know I am not that.”
A sacrifice—now that, he could believe.
“What do you mean, Chosen One?” Amber said as she pushed her way from behind Damian. She swiveled her head, shooting questioning looks between the two men. “What haven’t you tol
d me, Damian?”
“It’s nothing,” he denied. “Just words from foolish old men.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is it as nothing as me being the Marked One?” The iciness of her words sunk into Damian.
“I don’t know,” he found himself answering honestly. “Lately, it seems I know nothing.”
A light chuckle drifted through the claustrophobic room. “The first step in understanding everything.” The Ancient smiled at his own caginess as if all the events were suddenly clear. “I found you both when you were lost. But it is up to the two of you to find the path and lead the way.”
“Found us both?” Amber questioned, her sharp mind catching the hidden points when Damian’s had missed it.
“In New York City,” the man replied. “The Year of the Dragon celebration. A year that will change everything. A year that has been a millennium in waiting. You needed the stone and he needed to prepare. That was all I could do then.”
“So it was you who gave Amber the stone?” Damian said. “Where did it come from?”
The Ancient waved his hand in dismissal. “Details that do not matter at the moment.”
“Why me?” Amber whispered, the soft words barely audible in the silent room. She lifted her head and looked at the Ancient. A man she recognized, but didn’t seem to trust.
Damian was learning the calm, collected face Amber presented hid her true feelings. It was her way of deflecting and hiding her emotions from others. A tactic he understood.
He reached out and grabbed her hand. There it was, the niggling of fear, the thread of panic, the trace of desperation—all of them clearly discernable over the energy. He pulled her to his side and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. The urge to keep her safe—to keep her—took over every thought within him. She resisted him at first, but then she melted against his side, the fight leaving her.
The Ancient walked toward them. Damian stiffened and pulled Amber tighter to his body. Although he detected no threat from the man, he wasn’t prepared to trust him either. Too many years of doubt stood between him and blind faith.
No matter what the energy said.
“You will understand the why when you are ready,” the Ancient told Amber as he stopped a few feet from them. “Now, you need sleep. Food. A shower. I will provide those. Tomorrow, we will talk. But for now, you will rest. This room is safe—no one can enter without my permission.” The man walked to the open door, his white slippers silent against the plush carpet. He pushed the door open, allowing more light into the room. “The bathroom is also safe and fully stocked. A luxury I think you could both use.”
The man bowed slightly, then disappeared without a sound.
Chapter Sixteen
Amber stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped tightly around her head, confining her long hair. She had her dirty clothes back on, but her skin was clean. Her mind soothed. Or, at least, tired enough to stop thinking. The long, hot shower had done its magic, releasing the knotted muscle aches and replacing them with a bone-weary exhaustion.
The smell of teriyaki hit her nose, and her stomach growled in response. Damian looked up from his perch on the edge of the low bed. He’d removed his ruined jacket and shirt, making the burn wound—which he had adamantly refused to let her treat—look even worse when highlighted against the bronze expanse of his chest. He looked her over from head to toe before he cleared his throat and stood.
“Feeling better?” he said softly, the husky notes stroking her skin in a warm glow.
She nodded. “Yes. Much.” She clutched her hands, forced her gaze away from his naked torso and stepped away from the door. “Your turn.”
Being alone with a male, sharing a bathroom, completing mundane tasks were all out of her scope of experience. The intimacy of the situation unnerved her more than the threat of dragons or fireballs.
“Here,” he said, stepping behind her. “Let me help.”
Before she could refuse, he gently unwrapped the towel from around her head, letting her wet hair fall free, but catching it with the towel before the strands soaked her shirt. With the softest of touches, he rubbed the thick towel over her hair, periodically squeezing and rubbing until most of the water was absorbed into the cloth.
Amber closed her eyes and let the tender touches relax her further. His kindness, the juxtaposition of the stoic warrior quietly drying her hair was more poignant than any words he could have said. Her bare toes curled into the soft carpet, the fibers scrunching under the pressure.
“Stay here,” he said, the warmth of his breath caressing her neck. In a second he’d returned from the bathroom with a brush.
“I can do it.” She cleared her throat to remove the scratchiness that had assaulted her voice and extended her hand.
“So can I.”
The brush massaged her scalp and tugged lightly as he patiently pulled it through the long mass. She lost track of time, forgot about all the stresses that pushed at her and simply let him take care of her. The steam from the bath heated the room and brought with it a damp moisture that cloaked the air in weighted heaviness.
The nerves that held her stomach tight loosened with each touch. With each soft pass of the brush, the feeling of belonging grew within her. The stone hummed a warm, consistent murmur between her breasts and the energy flowed languidly through her in rhythm to Damian’s patient brushing.
“Your hair is beautiful,” he said close to her ear, the heat of him warming her back even though he didn’t touch her. “It amazes me that it’s as silky and smooth as it looks.” He ran his fingers through it. “So soft.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.
“Has it always been this long?”
She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. His face was sincere, questioning. “Yes. As annoying as it sometimes is, it’s a part of me. A part of who I am.” She looked down, the force of his gaze too powerful. “I think I would be lost without it.”
The brush stilled, and she felt the flush creep over her face. Why had she told him that?
His hands held her shoulders when she tried to step away. She heard the quiet thud of the brush hitting the carpet before he rubbed the tight muscles at the juncture of her neck.
“You are not your hair,” he said, his voice both firm and gentle. “You would be beautiful with or without it. Strong if it was long or short. Courageous even if you were bald. The outer trimmings do not change the core of who you are.”
Unbidden, she leaned back into the steady pressure of his hands. Her head tilted forward and she sighed. “It would seem that you have a very different perception of my core than I do.”
“Isn’t that true of most people? It’s very rare that we see ourselves as others see us.”
A short puff of air left her nostrils in a sound of agreement; a small smile curved her lips. “Very true.” His fingers continued their gentle rubbing of her neck up to the base of her skull. Amber bit her lip to keep the moan from escaping. After a moment she asked, “So how do you see yourself?”
He chuckled, the low tones scurrying over her spine. “The important question is how do you see me?”
His hands didn’t stop their work, but she felt his body tense behind her. The expectation hung in the air, her answer far more significant than the simple question posed. Her tongue bathed her dry lips with moisture, and she closed her eyes to shutter her thoughts even though he couldn’t see her face from where he stood.
She pulled strength from the darkness, inhaled deeply, exhaled it all. Her voice was low, but steady when she finally spoke.
“I see the strength of a man who bears the weight of many without complaint. One filled with loyalty and honor despite the injustices that have been committed against him. A man courageous enough to stand up to his people even though it meant abandoning all that he wanted.”
His hands stilled. She heard him swallow. “And you see this in spite of all that I’ve done to you?”
She turn
ed to face him. His grip tightened on her shoulders when she met his probing gaze. She may have had her doubts about all that had happened to her, about everything that had been said about her. But she had no doubts about the man before her.
“And what exactly have you done to me?” she challenged him. She reached up with a shaky hand and circled the burn wound on his shoulder with her fingertips. “You’ve protected me when you didn’t need to. You’ve saved me when you could have turned your back. You were, are, willing to sacrifice your life for mine. So tell me why I would see anything different?”
The pain that slipped across his face surprised her. She’d said too much. Again. Damn it. She had no experience with these types of situations. Of expressing her emotions, especially to a man. Instead of comforting him, she’d caused him pain.
She looked away, dropped her hand and tried to step back. Again, he stopped her. Why? His hands slid up the sides of her neck until they cradled her face. A slight pressure forced her head up until she met his gaze. The pain she’d seen was gone. In its place was a tenderness she’d never seen in him. His features had softened, his eyes a deep blue that held her in a paralyzed trance.
“Because I started all this,” he said, his voice low, insistent. “It’s because of me that you are here. That people are after you. It’s my fault that you are hunted.” He shook his head and looked down. “My selfishness has caused all this.”
She chuckled, a brief rumble of disagreement. “I don’t believe any of that.” His head lifted, his eyes narrowed in doubt. “This was all set in motion before you showed up. From the second that Asian man gave me the stone, my life was changed. I might not understand everything, but I know that without question. You are not at fault for where my life is.” She tentatively pressed a hand to his bare chest. The heat warmed her palm, the energy tunneling down her arm to burrow into her chest.
“No,” she whispered, the trepidation making her voice soft. “You are only a part of where my life is going.”
