Warlord

by Angela Knight

  “What I’ve got on now is sufficient,” he said coolly. “And I have no intention of sleeping on the floor. I need to be close to you.”

  “You know, somehow I get the impression you’re milking this,” she said, eyeing him. “But I’ve got to be wrong. You couldn’t be that big a jerk.”

  He propped big fists on his hips, silently tempting her eyes back to that intriguing bulge. “Is that any way to talk to a man who came three hundred years to save your luscious…neck?”

  “That depends on what you’re planning to charge me for it.”

  “I don’t charge.”

  But you’re not above enjoying whatever fringe benefits you can get, either. She clamped her lips shut before she could say the words. “Fine. Whatever. Just keep your distance.”

  Jane waited for some silken comeback, but he made no reply. Pointedly ignoring him, she stalked to the bed and flipped back the covers. Her copy of Dark Passion flew out of the covers and sailed through the air. He snagged it in midflight and handed it back to her.

  “Interesting reading.” The purr in Baran’s voice was a perfect match to the predatory grin on his face.

  Her own face heated as she remembered the scene she’d been enjoying when she’d heard the murder call earlier that evening. The hero had just tied up the heroine and…

  “If you’d been any kind of gentleman, you would have kept your nose out of my book!”

  He contemplated the point, then grinned that slow, wicked grin again. “Actually, if I understand the term—I don’t believe I am a gentleman.”

  “I noticed!” With a huff she tossed the paperback on the nightstand, climbed into bed, turned her back on him, and curled tightly into a defensive ball.

  He laughed softly. The mattress sank as he slid onto it. “Do you normally sleep with the lights on?”

  She hissed and jumped up to flip the switch, then turned back toward the bed.

  And stopped dead, the hair rising on the back of her neck. His eyes were glowing again, shining in the darkness like a special effect in a horror flick. And after viewing that recording, she didn’t need anything else gnawing at her fragile composure. “Could you not do that?”

  “Do what?” His voice was a velvety male purr, intimate and seductive.

  “The glowing bit with the eyes.” Trying not to look at him, she hurried back to the bed and slipped between the covers. “It’s unnerving as hell.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s one of the few body functions I have no control over. They’re designed that way.”

  “Sounds like a serious drawback in battle.” Small talk. Yeah. Get him thinking about something other than sex. Get herself thinking about something other than sex.

  “I normally wear an armored helmet. The visor hides them.”

  She rolled over to face him and propped her head on her palm. “So why do they? Glow.”

  He sighed. “Jane, I thought the idea of going to bed was to sleep.”

  “I just wondered.”

  “Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

  “Fine.”

  But half an hour later Jane was still awake, her burning eyes fixed on the ceiling. She could hear Baran’s steady breathing in the bed next to her, feel his sold, comforting presence.

  But every time she closed her lids, she saw a flash of silver and a spray of red, heard Druas humming that snatch of song as he…

  She felt so damn cold.

  Curling on her side, Jane drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her body. She shivered. She’d been all right as long as Baran had been awake to fight with, but now in the silent darkness the horror came rushing back.

  It suddenly hit her the killer had been humming the same song he’d made Mary Kelly sing.

  Jesus. Jack the Ripper intended to turn her into the star of a pornographic snuff video for a gang of perverts three hundred years in the future. And she was sleeping next to a time traveler who’d come back all those centuries to protect her.

  When had her life become an episode of the Twilight Zone?

  She was so tired her eyeballs ached, but the idea of going to sleep made her heart pound. She knew she’d find Druas and his knife in her dreams.

  If only Baran would wake up and distract her again with one of those mind-bending lectures on time travel delivered with those hot bedroom eyes. Even if they did glow in the dark.

  God, she was cold.

  Had it hurt when Druas slit Mary Kelly’s throat, or had she already been dead?

  Cut it out, dammit.

  She shivered again, but this time she had trouble stopping. She curled tighter, hugging her knees. And slowly became aware of a sense of warmth at her back.

  Baran.

  He seemed to radiate heat like a big male furnace. She found herself inching in his direction.

  She tried to think of what she would do in the morning, how she’d protect herself. Her father’s old .38 revolver was packed away with the rest of his stuff up in the attic, but she hadn’t practiced with it in years. Maybe she should go to the firing range….

  Damn, Baran was warm. Jane edged a little closer and bumped into his hard, muscular side.

  She slid away.

  Practice. She needed to dig the gun out and practice with it. And what was she going to tell Tom Reynolds? She might know who the killer was, but she’d never be able to tell the police. God forbid they actually catch him—from what Baran had said, Druas would rip them apart.

  Hell, she’d be lucky if he didn’t rip her apart.

  Don’t think about that, Jane. Go to sleep.

  She curled tighter into herself and tried to ignore all the man-shaped pools of blackness in the room her imagination wanted to turn into serial killers. Temptingly close to her back, Baran slept, big and warm, breathing quietly. Stranger or not, she wished her pride would let her curl into his arms.

  She was so tired, so wrung out from the terror and rage that had filled her night. Her eyelids slid closed, only to snap open again. She didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to dream, but she was tired. So tired. So…

  They were fighting again.

  Jane crouched under the dining room table, hidden by the drape of the linen tablecloth. Ducking her head, she cupped shaking hands over her ears as her father screamed insults at her mother. Her heart was pounding inside her Cabbage Patch Kids pajamas. They’d fought before, but this was worse. So much worse.

  She felt sick.

  “If you walk out that door, Jeanine, I swear to God you’ll never see Jane again!”

  “You can’t do that! She’s my child. I’ll sue for custody.”

  “You won’t get it. People in this county owe me, and don’t think they won’t pay their debts.”

  “And don’t think I won’t tell them what you’ve done to me!”

  His laugh was dark and ugly. “You can’t prove anything.”

  “Don’t bet on it. I’ve got photos, Bill.”

  The silence that stretched between them jangled until Jane began to cry, stuffing her pajama top into her mouth to stifle any noise.

  “Where?” Her father’s low, deadly snarl made her freeze like a rabbit.

  “Where you’ll never find them. I’ve got a friend you don’t know anything about. I told her everything. She’ll—”

  “She? Or he?” Jane heard the familiar sound of a slap and squeezed her eyes shut. “Is it a he?”

  “No!”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not telling you! But she’ll testify, and the photos…”

  His laugh was mocking. “They won’t care, Jeanine. This is South Carolina.”

  “And I’m Jane’s mother, and South Carolina judges think ten-year-old girls belong with their mothers. Particularly if their fathers are abusive, wife-beating…Hit me again and I swear I’ll go to the police. How will that look in your precious paper?”

  Jane could hear him breathing.

  “Jane!” Her mother’s shout almost startled a scream out of her. She clamped both
hands over her mouth. “Jane, come on. We’re leaving.”

  “All right, bitch, you can go. But she’s staying.”

  “I’m not leaving without—”

  “She’s a Colby, Jeanine. I’m leaving the paper to her, just like Colbys have for a hundred years. You’re not taking her out of this town.”

  “I’m not leaving without her.”

  They went quiet again. Jane, too terrified to move, swallowed hard and fought against the need to throw up.

  “If you don’t leave without her,” her father said, in a low, deadly voice, “I’m going to kill you.”

  A hot tear plopped onto Jane’s bare foot. She stuffed her pajama top deeper into her mouth.

  Her mother laughed, her voice too high, too wild. “They’d catch you, Bill.”

  “I’ve covered a lot of trials, Jeanine. You think I don’t know how to create reasonable doubt?”

  Jane fought not to sob. She knew she didn’t dare give herself away.

  “Get out, Jeanine,” her father said, his voice soft and cold. “And you’d better not apply for custody.”

  Jane heard the door slam. Something hit the wall with a crash. Glass broke. Her father began to curse, his voice vicious with rage.

  She curled tighter into a ball and quivered. If he found her…

  Jane jolted awake to find herself standing in darkness.

  “Jane?”

  She whirled, stifling her scream from long habit. Moonlight streamed in the window, silhouetting the big male figure sitting up in the bed.

  Seven

  “Are you all right? You jumped out of bed as if someone shot you, but my sensors say you’re uninjured.” Recognizing Baran’s deep, sleep-roughened voice at last, Jane slumped.

  “I’m fine. Just a nightmare.” The oldest one in her collection. She supposed it wasn’t surprising she’d had it, given the circumstances.

  Particularly since after Jeanine Colby had walked out the door that night, Jane had never seen her again. Her father had told people for years his wife had left to take care of her sick mother. When Jane had questioned him as a teenager, he’d produced letters addressed to Jane he’d claimed were from Jeanine. The handwriting had matched what she’d found in the family Bible, so Jane had decided her mother had simply gone into hiding.

  But the doubts had lingered, so as an adult, she’d hired a private detective to search for her mother. He never found anything.

  Maybe Jeanine had done a very good job of covering her tracks from the husband who’d abused her. Then again, maybe William Colby had carried through on his threats. A year ago Jane had finally decided to tell the police about her suspicions, but before she could go through with her plans, he’d suffered his fatal stroke.

  Now she’d never know if her father had been a murderer.

  “Is there anything you need?” Baran asked, jolting her out of her preoccupation.

  “No.” She laughed shortly. “Well, maybe a good therapist.”

  “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

  She eyed him as he sat against the head of the bed, his glorious bare chest silvered in a shaft of moonlight. He looked big and strong and safe. And just then, she was in desperate need of safety.

  Jane crossed the bedroom to slide under the covers he lifted for her. He curled onto his side facing her, silently offering her the shelter of his body. His skin seemed to radiate a seductive heat, as though his natural body temperature was high. She felt too battered to refuse. She eased into the curve of one muscled arm. A hand came up to rub her back, so big it almost spanned the width of her torso.

  “Your skin is cold,” he said softly, drawing her farther into his arms as he rolled onto his back. The movement draped her over his chest like a scarf. “Let me warm you.”

  Yeah, I’ll bet you’d be good at that, she thought with weary cynicism. The thing was, she felt so traumatized she’d probably let herself be seduced, if only for the illusion of safety she’d find in his arms.

  But he made no further advances, instead rubbing her back in slow, gentle strokes. His chest felt broad and strong and hard under her cheek, and his heat enveloped her. Gradually she began to relax.

  As she settled into him, Jane realized he had an erection. The long shaft pressed gently against the curve of her belly through her sweatpants. She tensed, but he did nothing more. Demanded nothing more.

  And he felt so safe. Jane had experienced so damn little safety in her life, she found it difficult to resist. So she stayed where she was, despite that silently tempting erection, and savored his warmth.

  She could feel the sculpted ridges of his muscles, the faint tickle of his body hair against her skin. He even smelled delicious. Every time she inhaled, her head filled with the spicy male musk of his scent. His arm lay curved around her shoulder, a comforting weight. She let her eyes close. Surely now…

  Red splattered the walls. Eyes opened wide in shock, a screaming mouth…

  Jane’s screaming mouth.

  Or was it Jeanine’s?

  She jerked upright out of his loose hold. Sitting up with a gulping sob, she buried her face in her hands. “You were right. I shouldn’t have looked at that damn recording. I’ve tried, but I can’t stop thinking about it….”

  “Yes, you can.” Sheets rustled and the bed shifted under his weight. Warm hands closed over her wrists, pulled hers away from her face. “I’ll help you.”

  Jane looked up blindly in the darkness, saw the shimmer of his eyes an instant before his mouth came down over hers. She tried to pull away, startled, but long fingers tangled in her hair and held her still. The kiss was an easy, practiced slide of his mouth against hers, carefully undemanding.

  Jane had expected skill, but Baran’s tenderness took her by surprise. His tongue caressed her lower lip, then entered her mouth in a long erotic stroke. His mouth tasted of a sweet, spicy something she couldn’t identify. Strong hands closed gently around her shoulders, turned, and lowered her to the mattress. She cupped her palms around the curve of his shoulders. They more than filled her hands. “We shouldn’t do this.”

  “Probably not,” he murmured. “But it seems we’re going to do it anyway.”

  “Yeah,” she said, and sobbed in a breath as he cuddled her breasts through her shirt. “Just help me not to think. Just keep me from seeing…” Mother. “…Mary die.”

  “I can do that.” Strong teeth closed gently over her lower lip, gave it a cool tug, then scraped softly against the curve of her jaw until they found a tendon. Stopped to nibble. “Just concentrate on this.”

  His hands slid up under the hem of her T, pushed it upward. She felt the cool draft on her erect nipples for only a moment before Baran’s warm, long fingers covered one breast. Cupped lightly.

  You don’t know him, sanity whispered.

  I don’t care.

  His long hair tumbled across her skin as he lowered his head to find one nipple. The heat of his claiming mouth made her spine arch.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for hours,” he rumbled against her skin, and licked the pointed tip. “Ever since I scented your heat in that pretty red silk gown.” He groaned. “God, that book of yours made you wet.”

  She inhaled sharply. He gave her nipple a delicate rake with his teeth. Pleasure danced up her spine. “You…you could smell that? On my clothes?” She knew she should be outraged, but just now she was too grateful for the distraction.

  “Mmm,” he said, and laughed, soft and dark. “My nose is almost as good as Freika’s. In fact, it tells me you’re creaming now.” He suckled, making her squirm.

  “I can’t believe you sniffed my nightgown”—she had to stop to gasp—“when you’d never even met me.”

  That dark laugh rolled over her again, making her shiver. “I not only sniffed it, I seriously considered wrapping it around my cock.” Another wicked almost-bite sent delight throbbing through her nipples as his long fingers squeezed and teased. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve ridden a wom
an, and you tempt me.”

  Something about the rough, dark way he phrased it sent a quiver through her. “Yeah,” she managed through the flood of heat, “I did pick up on that part. Your eyes glow whenever you’re—”

  “Aroused. Or angry.” He swirled his tongue over one tight point, then lowered his head to find the curve where her rib cage met her waist. “You’ve got a talent for making me both.”

  He laved her belly button until she squirmed. Her giggle was cut off by his fingers hooking into the waistband of her sweats.

  “I don’t like these,” he said. “Don’t wear them again.” Before she could work up any outrage at that blunt order, he started pulling them down. “I want to feel your bare legs wrapped around my ass.”

  Her head spun. “Okay,” she panted as he stripped them ruthlessly off. “But just so we’re clear, you’re not telling me what to wear.”

  Baran’s eyes flashed at her through the darkness, red and bright as coals before he turned to toss the pants across the room. She heard the soft thump as they landed. “Oh, yes, I am. You’re going to do every last thing I order you to do.”

  “Not when you’re just being a sexist jerk.”

  “Every last thing, Jane,” he insisted, leaning close until his breath gusted warm on her ear. “Instantly. Without stopping to parse out whether you agree. Because it’s the only way I can keep you alive.” A big hand wrapped in the fragile fabric of her panties and twisted. The silk pulled at her hips and the tops of her thighs before it ripped.

  “Hey!” She glared up at his dark shadow looming over her. “You didn’t have to do that!”

  His eyes gleamed as he moved back down her body like the erotic predator he was. “No, but I wanted to. Just like I want to do this.” He dipped his tongue between her outer labia, a wet, tempting stroke along sensitive flesh and soft hair.

  She was still gasping at that sensation when she felt him move between her thighs, broad shoulders forcing them wide. His mouth descended to the lips that had grown steadily more creamy with every stroke and lick and hot male purr.