Ranger (Elemental Paladins Book 4)

by Montana Ash

  The testing process for a paladin to become eligible to join an Order was just as extensive as the training. Usually, an aspiring knight would be posted to a variety of training lodges around the world for years before they were permitted to undergo final exams. He hadn’t been to any of the training facilities nor had the opportunity to learn from any paladins other than those in his father’s Order. So, when he had entered the training lodge to undertake the Trials, he had been completely overwhelmed. He had been kept so isolated as a child, that he hadn’t understood the easy comradery and banter going on around him. His clear discomfort and naiveté had added to the very big target already on his back because of his father’s reputation. Terran’s Order was not well liked. But they were very much feared.

  So, he had decided to play the role of the too-young, too-skinny, too-short paladin and had no problem finding motivated contestants to beat him in every single test. Written and oral exams, shooting, archery, scythe-handling, hand-to-hand – he had placed last in every single one. Every time he was teased or berated, every black eye, every time he had been spit on, it had all been worth the resounding FAIL on his final report, for his father had disowned him the same day.

  And he had finally been free.

  That was until the head trainer who had been holding the trials had questioned his results. It seems the trainer was more than just a cantankerous meathead as Lark had assumed. The man had found him behind one of the makeshift residences after his father and Terran had left him for dead. He had been a mass of bruises and cuts, his face so swollen he could barely see through his puffy eyes. Even now, more than four years later, he could still feel the phantom pains twinging along his ribs and he sucked in a breath as he remembered the conversation that changed his life;

  He was dying, he was sure of it, he silently moaned to himself. He couldn’t believe his luck. His plan had worked and his father had finally publicly washed his hands of him. He’d had about an hour of pure bliss to revel in his joy and new-found freedom, only to be brought back down to earth by Terran and dear old dad jumping him as he had walked the bushland bordering the training lodge. For years he would have welcomed death as a respite from his life but not now. Not when his liberty was within his grasp.

  “Hey, kid.”

  The deep voice and the hated moniker startled him enough to pry his eyes open and wheeze out a painful breath, “I’m not a kid,” he informed the tall stranger. He was unable to make out any features due to the blurriness of his vision.

  A grunt met his ears, “You gonna die?”

  Lark chuckled, despite the fire it caused to spread throughout his body, “Probably. It’d be just my kind of luck.”

  Rustling followed and a large but gentle hand tilted his face up. Lark squinted, groaning once again when he finally recognised the large scar running down the left side of the man’s face; Ryker. The managing paladin and head trainer at the lodge. Just his luck, Lark repeated to himself. The huge guy was almost as much of an arsehole as his father was.

  “I’m going to ask you a question,” Ryker said, releasing his chin, “and I want you to answer honestly.”

  Lark was positively exhausted, so he merely flapped a hand with three broken fingers in the man’s direction, “Shoot.”

  “Did you throw the trials?”

  Now, that wasn’t the question he had been expecting. But given he literally had nothing to lose, he answered honestly, “I did.”

  “Why?”

  Failing in one’s duties as a knight was the height of shame in their society. And failing on purpose? Well, Lark figured it was a probably an offence punishable by death. But regardless of that and even though Ryker was a complete stranger and looked just as formidable and unrelenting as his father, he didn’t censor his answer;

  “Because I hate my father and his Order with everything that I am. It was the best way to flip the piece of shit the bird.”

  Ryker continued to stare at him, that horrendous scar on his face twitching in time with the clenching of his jaw and Lark prepared himself for another arse-kicking of epic proportions. He knew Ryker’s reputation. But the man only asked for clarification;

  “You failed the most prestigious examination process in society, making yourself a shameful outcast for the rest of your long life, just so you can stick it to your father?”

  “Damn straight,” Lark confirmed.

  Ryker nodded, “Fair enough.” He stood up, dusting off his hands on the seat of his pants, “If you live, I have a spare room available at my house. It’s thirty minutes north of here, converted barn by the sea. You can’t miss it.”

  Ryker had then left him there in mute shock. But he hadn’t been alone long. Two absolutely gorgeous female paladins had rushed to his side and administered the first kind words and gentle touches he had ever received in his quarter of a century of life. That had been the first time he had met Diana and Cali. A few hours after that, after struggling his way into the backseat of the duo’s car, he’d also had the privilege of meeting Darius and Beyden.

  He knew the others had similar stories to tell surrounding how they had come to live in the beautiful log cabin by the ocean. Somehow, the surly, half-dead potentate with the scarred face and the hostile countenance had managed to collect one stray paladin from every domain. He was as bad as Max when it came to saving the underdogs and the downtrodden – not that he would ever admit it. But Lark knew Ry’s compassion was as deep as his grouchiness. He and Max really were the perfect match.

  Standing up and shaking out his limbs, he picked up his device again, looking for the perfect song for his current mood. Seeing Hozier’s, Take Me To Church, he promptly hit play and let the beat roll over him before he made any attempt to move. Dancing was his secret joy. Whereas reading allowed him to escape his feelings; dance allowed him to express them. He didn’t know if the others knew he could move like a professional ballet dancer. Ryker and Max knew of course, and Axel had also stumbled upon him one day in the midst of a particularly graceful lyrical routine. He had feared the fire paladin would tease him but he had been wrong. Axel had been spellbound and had asked if he could play the piano for him one day as he danced. It was something they now did routinely as a part of their bromance.

  With the music and the lyrics now soaking into his skin and his childhood firmly in the past where it belonged, he leapt into the air … and danced.

  TWELVE

  It had been almost two weeks since the incident with Knox and Ivy regarded the maiden voyage for chade redemption as a half-win. The victory half was the amazing progress the now former chade had made since his enforced stay at the camp. She had just spent an hour with Knox, Dex, and Darius, trying to stabilise Knox’s powers once more. The chade had stopped trying to consume Max’s energy whenever she was within touching distance a few days ago and was now able to recharge like a normal warden once more.

  If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Ivy never would have believed it. It was something everyone had been told was impossible for centuries. The chades were purported to be power-hungry traitors, bastardising their birthrights and bringing ruin to nature’s balance deliberately. After taking so many lives – too many to count – she had begun wishing for an alternative. Well, the alternative was finally here and its name was Max. Or, apparently, members of Max’s Order who volunteer as conduits. And that was why she considered their initial efforts only a half-win. Because she had watched Lark’s ever-present vibrancy wither to grey skin, hollow cheekbones, and rattling breaths.

  When he had collapsed so silently to the ground, she had feared they’d all made an irrevocable mistake. The sharp pain she had felt in her chest seeing him lying half dead on the ground had shocked her and she had found herself rushing to his side instead of burying her sickle into the chade as her years of training should have demanded. Even now, the memory of seeing those sparkling green eyes go dull and lifeless made her pulse kick up and her stomach drop. And that thoroughly pissed her off just as much
as it terrified her. She was now afraid these people with their acceptance and their fun and their steadfast loyalty were highly contagious.

  All the mushy, warm-fuzzies must be like an airborne virus or something, she told herself. She rubbed at her arms as if that would help remove the contamination. The sooner she got out of here the better, she knew. She’d rather take on a horde of rabid chades and face an eternity of near-death experiences than the butterflies she felt every time she thought of the young earth paladin coming to harm. Luckily, the paladin in question was now almost back to full health and they would be able to head out on the extended mission to retrieve as many chades as possible.

  There had been many a war council over the past couple of weeks and a plan had finally been decided upon; Lark, Ivy, and Dex would travel to all the known chade haunts. Dex and Max, through her connection with Lark, would determine which chades were redeemable. Lark would then volunteer as tribute again (his words) and act as Max’s magic wand but on a much smaller and more controlled level. Max would only hit the chade with just enough juice to ‘humanise’ him and she would also keep the link open between her entire Order. Everyone would shoulder the burden.

  It sounded viable in theory but Ivy had her reservations. They still had a few details to iron out, like where were all these chades going to stay? How would they get back here? Nikolai had agreed to look the other way and basically keep the area clear of rangers so they had time to fully bring the chades back into the light again. Her Commander had big reservations but he trusted her. Ivy only hoped his trust wasn’t misplaced and they weren’t all making a huge mistake.

  That feeling was compounded by the information Nik had given her during their phone call just minutes ago. He told her the number of rumblings regarding Max was increasing in volume, frequency, and type. There was a decided shift from shock and awe to suspicion and fear from the local wardens and paladins. And it was spreading. Ivy had no doubt specific factions were responsible for the perpetuation of the negative rumours and the fear mongering. In her opinion, it was something they needed to get a handle on – and soon. Ivy hadn’t put much stock in Max’s silly referrals to her squirrels but she was now worried she was turning into a believer.

  Stepping up to the door of the gym, she was about to open it and unceremoniously interrupt Lark’s workout when she heard the loud music. It surprised her because she didn’t take Lark as the type to listen to music at such a volume. She would have thought he’d be more of the silent exercise type. But then, what did she really know about him? Other than the fact that he was willing to sacrifice his own health and safety for his liege’s wishes – so typical of a paladin. It was another reason why being a ranger suited her. She sacrificed her safety all the time but it wasn’t for one specific person. Nobody was that important – until now.

  Glancing down, she saw the seven, small black elemental symbols in a perfect circle on her upper arm and guessed that was proof enough that Max was that important. It had been Max who had pointed her in the direction of Lark this morning. Ivy really didn’t want to spend too much one-on-one time with him but they needed to discuss their next steps. She could only be grateful Dex would be accompanying them on their mission. For now, her curiosity got the better of her and instead of going through the main door of the gym, she walked around the side so she could see into one of the windows.

  And damn near swallowed her tongue.

  He was stripped from the waist up, bare chest glistening with the evidence of his exertion. His feet were also bare and he was in a scrappy-looking pair of red cut-offs that made his pale skin look like smooth ivory. But the real kicker? He was dancing. Not the kind of bump and grind you’d see on the dance floor of a nightclub, nor the ballroom dancing her own brother preferred. But the type of dancing with lots of leaps and stretches and pirouettes. Even as she watched, Lark shifted his weight fluidly from the ball of one foot to the next and he executed a perfect leap in the air with both legs out straight. He then collapsed his front knee when he landed, letting the floor absorb his weight as he tumbled, effortlessly regaining his feet again.

  She had known the guy was flexible from the yoga session she had seen but this was another level altogether. But it wasn’t his undeniable skill or even his pretty chest which had her eyes glued to his frame. It was the soul he put into every movement. Lark in motion was the singular, most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  She’d noticed he didn’t parade around half naked like most of the other male soldiers. She’d had to keep telling herself that it didn’t bother her. Why should she care if her eyes were never given the treat of seeing his perfect, pale skin stretched taught over lean, corrugated abs? It hadn’t bothered her – not in the least – she assured herself, even as she continued to watch the half-clothed paladin. She had just assumed he was shy or maybe a prude but as he turned away from her, she automatically cringed, her body sucking in a shuddering breath.

  His back! By the Goddess, his back! It was a mass of scar tissue from shoulder to waist. So, the man wasn’t a prude. He was likely ever-cognizant of the markings on his skin. And here she was – some kind of creeper in the bushes, spying on him when he was obviously engrossed in a very private moment. She kept telling herself to walk away and leave the man in peace but her body wouldn’t obey her brain’s command. Her eyes were too enraptured by what they were seeing. His body was poetry in motion.

  “You know, if he wanted an audience he would have asked for one.”

  Ivy spun quickly, leading with her sickle as was habit whenever someone snuck up behind her.

  Ryker merely eyed the lethal blade blandly, “Planning to take my head off, Ivy?”

  She blew out a breath, lowering the weapon, “Not today.”

  Ryker glanced past her where Lark was still dancing. He was clearly tracking Lark’s movements as he leapt and tumbled and spun his way across the matted floor of the gym. She struggled heroically with herself not to turn around and glimpse those lithe muscles and sensuous movements just one more time. Ryker’s eyes re-focused on her and she could easily see the censure in them.

  “This is Lark’s private time. He doesn’t dance for an audience; he dances for himself.”

  “I wasn’t spying,” she hastily defended, cursing herself for her automatic response. She didn’t need to explain herself to Ryker, he wasn’t her commanding officer. But she did feel guilty knowing she had witnessed something intensely personal, not to mention those scars … “Max sent me out here,” she added. She had no problem shifting the blame to the whacky custodian.

  Ivy watched Ryker’s dark brown eyes narrow, “She did, did she?”

  She almost smiled when she recognised the look on the Captain’s face; pained resignation. “That’s right. So, if you’ll excuse me …” she motioned with her sickle but the man didn’t budge. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes;

  “Are we going to have a problem?” he asked.

  “No,” she answered automatically, before pausing to consider the situation more fully. After a moment, she shook her head and finally relaxed back against the wall. “No,” she repeated, “No problem. I’m just feeling bitchy I guess. We never had a problem,” she added.

  “That’s good. I never thought we did. No, that’s not the whole truth,” he admitted, “I didn’t really care if we did. When I woke up the next morning, I was more concerned about how Beyden would react than how you would.”

  She watched as he scrubbed both hands over his crop of shaggy dark hair in clear agitation, leaving it appealingly messy. His jaw was shadowed with a couple of days’ worth of growth and he was wearing his usual black cargos and plain white tee. Definitely a fine specimen, she mused. Too bad her taste in men had undergone a sudden shift lately. She noticed Ryker still looked uncomfortable and contrite, and because she hadn’t lied to him when she said there was no problem, she decided to put him out of his continued misery;

  “I was a virtual stranger. Bey is your f
riend. Why wouldn’t you be more concerned for his feelings than mine?”

  Deep brown eyes watched her for a few seconds before Ry’s mouth kicked up in a genuine, friendly smile, “Why is it the women in my life never react the way I think they’re going to?”

  Ivy smiled – very briefly and very small – but a smile nonetheless. Because she knew exactly what he was referring to; the women of the household weren’t your typical touchy, hormonal, sensitive divas. “Just lucky I guess,” she told him.

  “Oh, I am that. Very lucky,” he was quick to concur. “But seriously, we should get a move on before Lark finishes and sees us out here. I was serious before; he doesn’t like to be watched. Unless it’s Max … or Axel” he amended. “He doesn’t seem to mind them watching him dance.”

  Ivy nodded, pushing herself off the wall. She hesitated only a moment before voicing the question that had been plaguing her since she first set eyes on Lark’s shirtless form, “How’d he get the scars?”

  Ryker’s face shut down completely and she was looking at the stoic, pissed off knight she had known pre-Max, “That’s even more private than his dancing and a sore spot I don’t suggest you poke at.”

  She felt her irritation levels rise again, largely because she felt guilty, “I’m not trying to garner gossip here, Ryker. I’m about to head off alone with the kid. I need to know I can trust him.”

  “First, Lark isn’t a kid. Second, you can trust him. You have my word on that – for what it’s worth to you. If mine’s not enough, you have Max’s. I’m pretty sure that brand on your arm means you trust Max’s judgment. If you don’t – there’s your brother. Lark is one of his best friends.”