Darkness Surrendered (Primal Heat Trilogy #3) (Order of the Blade)

by Stephanie` Rowe

  “I’m taking you across to my truck,” he said, “and then we’re going to get your daughter and the others.”

  “We are?” She couldn’t stop the sudden flood of tears. “You’re going to help me get them?”

  He nodded as he snapped the final buckle. “Yeah. I gotta get into heaven somehow, and this might do it.”

  “Thank you!” She threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around him, clinging to her savior. She had no idea who he was, but he’d just successfully navigated a sheer mud cliff for her and her daughter, and she would so take that gift right now.

  For an instant, he froze, and she felt his hard body start to pull away. Then suddenly, in a shift so subtle she didn’t even see it happen, his body relaxed and his arms went around her, locking her down in an embrace so powerful she felt like the world had just stopped. She felt like the rain had ceased and the wind had quieted, buffeted aside by the strength and power of his body.

  “It’s going to be okay.” His voice was low and reassuring in her ear, his lips brushing against her as he spoke. “She’s going to be fine.”

  Crushed against this stranger’s body, protected by his arms, soothed by the utter confidence in his voice, the terror that had been stalking her finally eased away. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.”

  There was a hint of emotion in his voice, and she pulled back far enough to look at him. His eyes were dark, so dark she couldn’t tell if they were brown or black, but she could see the torment in his expression. His jaw was angular, and his face was shadowed by the floodlights. He was a man with weight in his heart. She felt it right away. Instinctively, she laid a hand on his cheek. “You’re a gift.”

  He flashed another smile, and for a split second, he put his hand over hers, holding it to his whiskered cheek as if she were some angel of mercy come to give him relief. Her throat thickened, and for a moment, everything else vanished. It was just them, drenched and cold on a windy mountain road, the only warmth was their hands, clasped together against his cheek.

  His eyes darkened, then he cleared his throat suddenly and released her hand, jerking her back to the present. “Wait until you see whether I can pull it off,” he said, his voice low and rough, sending chills of awareness rippling down her spine. “Then you can reevaluate that compliment.” He tugged on the harness. “Ready?”

  She gripped the cold nylon, suddenly nervous. Was she edgy because she was about to climb over a tree that could careen into the gully while she was on it, or was it due to intensity of the sudden heat between them? God, she hoped it was the first one. Being a wimp was so much less dangerous than noticing a man like him. “Aren’t you wearing one?”

  He quirked a smile at her, a jaunty grin that melted one more piece of her thundering heart. “I only have one, and ladies always get first dibs. Besides, I’m a good climber. If the tree takes me over, I’ll find my way back up. Always do.” He set his foot on a lower branch and patted his knee. “A one-of-a-kind step ladder. Hop up, Ms.—?” He paused, leaving the question hovering in the storm.

  “Clare.” She set her muddy boot on his knee, and she grimaced apologetically when the mud glopped all over his jeans. “Clare Gray.” She grabbed a branch and looked at him. “And you are?”

  “Griffin Friesé.” He set his hand on her hip to steady her, his grip strong and solid. “Let’s go save some kids, shall we?”

  Sneak Peek: KISS AT YOUR OWN RISK

  (The Soulfire Series, Book One)

  (humorous paranormal romance, available now)

  “Let’s get it done.” Blaine grabbed her arm and began to propel her down the sidewalk.

  “My car is the other direction—”

  “We’ll take mine.” He nodded ahead, and Trinity saw a large, black motorcycle parked up beside the curb.

  She stopped. “I can’t ride on that.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “It’s…dangerous.” It was the best word she could think of. She didn’t take risks right now. She kept all emotions tucked deep away inside, held tight like steel netting was wrapped around her. The motorcycle…too wild. Too adventurous. Too passionate. Too everything she didn’t dare to be.

  “Been riding for over a century. I’m good.” He strode toward it, not bothering to wait for her. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  “No.” She was already walking toward it. She had to touch it. To feel what that kind of freedom felt like. She laid her hand on the seat. The leather was soft, but it felt tough at the same time. The chrome was gleaming. The wheels were immaculate. It was the ultimate expression of daring to take on life, of refusing to go gently, of feeling the passion and fire burn through her until she wanted to explode. Of embracing risk and danger.

  It was everything she couldn’t afford.

  Not in this moment. Not with the spider edging so close to the line.

  Right now, she needed to keep a stranglehold on her emotions. It was about self-control. It was about showing she could manage the cravings and desire burning inside her. It was about driving her Subaru below the speed limit while wearing her seatbelt.

  Blaine swung his leg over the seat, straddling the huge machine like he owned its soul. Like it was a demon he controlled by his mere presence. “Just got it. Nice, huh?”

  “I can’t ride that.”

  “You’re my ticket to freeing Christian.” He held out his hand to her. “Trust me, I’ll protect you. No chance you’re getting hurt with me around.”

  “It’s not that.” She clasped her hands behind her back, against the urge to climb on there with him. She could almost feel the wind blowing through her hair, that sense of being utterly free in a way she never had been. Ever.

  He turned the key, then punched the ignition button. The engine roared to life, so loud it drowned out the thoughts in her head. It thundered in her chest, made her body vibrate, reducing her to nothing but a physical, visceral reaction to the power and freedom it offered.

  He didn’t bother with a helmet. He didn’t bother to shout above the din. He just jerked his chin at her and revved the bike with a twist of the right handlebar.

  She saw the determination in his eyes. He was man who wasn’t going to lose his race for Christian’s life.

  He wasn’t even considering it. He’d do whatever it took, and he’d succeed.

  She wanted to be like that. She wanted to be so sure, so confident, so certain in who she was and what she wanted that she never doubted herself again, never feared the monster within. She wanted to wake up in the morning with that same expression that Blaine was wearing. The one that knew, without a doubt, that she could have anything and everything she wanted.

  Maybe she’d been going about it the wrong way. Maybe fighting her passions had been a misguided approach. Maybe the right choice was to embrace her inner fire and let it shine.

  Blaine grinned, a smug look that told her that he knew she’d changed her mind.

  Even as she started toward the bike, even as she slid her leg over the seat behind Blaine, even as she wrapped her arms around his muscled waist, she knew was using the logic as an excuse to get on and feel that fire, a choice she knew in her gut was the wrong one, the dangerous one, the choice of an addict unable to ditch the high.

  Blaine let the engine idle, and it subsided to a quiet roar. He pointed to pegs poking out of the bike near her feet. “Rule number one. Your feet never, ever come off those pegs unless I tell you. Not even when I stop. Your feet get in my way, and we could crash, or you could burn your leg off.”

  Her heart started to race, but she put her feet on the rods. What was she doing, riding this bike? This wasn’t her. But it was too tempting. She wanted to live, just once. How could a bike ride trigger her into going crazy and becoming a murderer?

  By stripping her of what little self-control she had left, that’s how. What if she liked the high too much? What if she wanted it again? What if—

  He twisted around so he could look a
t her. “Second rule: you tuck up against me and let your body fall in with mine. When I lean into the corners, you relax and go with me. Got it?”

  Oh, man, she so couldn’t do this. Release all resistance and let the world take her? “I—”

  “If you need to stop, tap my side with your left hand. Other than that, just keep your feet on the pegs and let your body move with mine and the g-forces of the bike, and you’re good.” He grabbed her knees and crushed her thighs against the outsides of his.

  Heat began to throb through her inner legs. An awareness of his strength. Of the intimate feel of his body between her thighs.

  He flipped a grin at her over his shoulder. “The name of the game is submission, Trinity.”

  She stiffened. Submission was a dirty word in her vocabulary. Submission meant giving into the curse.

  “Surrender yourself to the bike and to me.”

  “I can’t surrender to anything—”

  He revved the engine with a flick of his right wrist, drowning out her protest. She frantically hit him on his left side to tell him to stop, but all he did was raise one eyebrow at her. Then he ditched the kickstand and the bike began to roll.

  She lunged to get a grip around his waist, hugging desperately with all her strength. What had she been thinking—

  She suddenly became aware of a deep vibration echoing up from the bike, like the pulsing of a bass drum throbbing in her core, down her legs, in her belly, along her thighs where she was pressed so tightly around Blaine.

  And then the bike lurched forward with a squeal of tires. She tightened her grip around his waist, and then she felt the earth move beneath her. As the bike roared down the street, the cold wind whipped at her face, yanked at her hair, and her whole body shook with the vibration of a thousand pounds of force, she felt her soul come to life in a way she never had before.

  She raised her face to the sky, felt the sun fighting to warm her against the wind’s coldness, felt the heat of Blaine’s body between her thighs. He turned a corner and they leaned as one with the bike.

  She looked down as her right knee skimmed just above the pavement. They were going so fast, the ground was nothing but a gray blur, rushing past. Another inch closer and her kneecap would turn into a Frisbee. So close to utter destruction, dancing on the edge—

  He straightened the bike and they moved upright again. Away from danger. She’d threaded the edge, but she’d never really been at risk. She could feel Blaine’s complete control of the machine of the power beneath them. One wrong move and the bike could be an instrument of carnage and lost dreams. But in Blaine’s grasp, it was a tool of pure, unadulterated freedom.

  To be able to control death so easily? To turn it from hell into joy? Tears filled her eyes as she pressed her cheek to Blaine’s back. The heat from his body pressed at her inner thighs, burning through her jeans. Her hair knifed at her cheeks, her shirt flapped ruthlessly, as if the fabric wanted to rip free from her body, to fly through the air. She hugged tighter, suddenly afraid.

  Blaine tapped her wrist and held his right arm up to the sky, like he was reaching for the sun. “You can let go,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Try it!”

  She shook her head and held tighter.

  She felt the laughter rumble in his chest, and then he leaned over the handle bars and the bike leaped forward, as if he’d unleashed a wild cat from a cage. She felt his muscles flex, felt a sudden energy pulse through his body, like sparks were jumping from his skin onto hers, and then he whipped the bike onto the highway, and let it all out.

  And all she could do was hang on.

  Sneak Peek: ICE

  (Alaska Heat, Book One)

  (romantic suspense, available now)

  Kaylie’s hands were shaking as she rifled through her bag, searching for her yoga pants. She needed the low-slung black ones with a light pink stripe down the side. The cuffs were frayed from too many wearings to the grocery store late at night for comfort food, and they were her go-to clothes when she couldn’t cope. Like now.

  She couldn’t find them.

  “Come on!” Kaylie grabbed her other suitcase and dug through it, but they weren’t there. “Stupid pants! I can’t—” A sob caught at her throat and she pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to stifle the swell of grief. “Sara—”

  Her voice was a raw moan of pain, and she sank to the thick shag carpet. She bent over as waves of pain, of loneliness, of utter grief shackled her. For her parents, her brother, her family and now Sara—

  Dear God, she was all alone.

  “Dammit, Kaylie! Get up!” she chided herself. She wrenched herself to her feet. “I can do this.” She grabbed a pair of jeans and a silk blouse off the top of her bag and turned toward the bathroom. One step at a time. A shower would make her feel better.

  She walked into the tiny bathroom, barely noticing the heavy wood door as she stepped inside and flicked the light switch. Two bare light bulbs flared over her head, showing a rustic bathroom with an ancient footed tub and a raw wood vanity with a battered porcelain sink. A tiny round window was on her right. It was small enough to keep out the worst of the cold, but big enough to let in some light and breeze in the summer.

  She was in Alaska, for sure. God, what was she doing here?

  Kaylie tossed the clean clothes on the sink and unzipped her jacket, dropping it on the floor. She tugged all her layers off, including the light blue sweater that had felt so safe this morning when she’d put it on. She stared grimly at her black lace bra, so utterly feminine, exactly the kind of bra that her mother had always considered frivolous and completely impractical. Which it was. Which was why that was the only style Kaylie ever wore.

  She should never have come to Alaska. She didn’t belong here. She couldn’t handle this. Kaylie gripped the edge of the sink. Her hands dug into the wood as she fought against the urge to curl into a ball and cry.

  After a minute, Kaylie lifted her head and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were wide and scared, with dark circles beneath. Her hair was tangled and flattened from her wool hat. There was dirt caked on her cheeks.

  Kaylie rubbed her hand over her chin, and the streaks of mud didn’t come off.

  She tried again, then realized she had smudges all over her neck. She turned on the water, and wet her hands…and saw her hands were covered as well.

  Stunned, Kaylie stared as the water ran over her hands, turning pink as it swirled in the basin.

  Not dirt.

  Sara’s blood.

  “Oh, God.” Kaylie grabbed a bar of soap and began to scrub her hands. But the blood was dried, stuck to her skin. “Get off!” She rubbed frantically, but the blackened crust wouldn’t come off. Her lungs constricted and she couldn’t breathe. “I can’t—”

  The door slammed open, and Cort stood behind her, wearing a T-shirt and jeans.

  The tears burst free at the sight of Cort, and Kaylie held up her hands to him. “I can’t get it off—”

  “I got it.” Cort took her hands and held them under the water, his grip warm and strong. “Take a deep breath, Kaylie. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not. It won’t be.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes as he washed her hands roughly and efficiently. His muscles flexed beneath her cheek, his skin hot through his shirt. Warm. Alive. “Sara’s dead,” she whispered. “My parents. My brother. They’re all gone. The blood—” Sobs broke free again, and she couldn’t stop the trembling.

  “I know. I know, babe.” He pulled her hands out from under the water and grabbed a washcloth. He turned her toward him and began to wash her face and neck.

  His eyes were troubled, his mouth grim. But his hands were gentle where he touched her, gently holding her face still while he scrubbed. His gaze flicked toward hers, and he held contact for a moment, making her want to fall into those brown depths and forget everything. To simply disappear into the energy that was him. “You have to let them go,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do to b
ring them back—”

  “No.” A deep ache pounded at Kaylie’s chest and her legs felt like they were too weak to support her. “I can’t. Did you see Sara? And Jackson? His throat—” She bent over, clutching her stomach. “I—”

  Cort’s arms were suddenly around her, warm and strong, pulling her against his solid body. Kaylie fell into him, the sobs coming hard, the memories—

  “I know.” Cort’s whisper was soft, his hand in her hair, crushing her against him. “It sucks. Goddamn, it sucks.”

  Kaylie heard his grief in the raw tone of his voice and realized his body was shaking as well. She looked up and saw a rim of red around his eyes, shadows in the hollows of his whiskered cheeks. “You know,” she whispered, knowing with absolute certainty that he did. He understood the grief consuming her.

  “Yeah.” He cupped her face, staring down at her, his grip so tight it was almost as desperate as she felt. She could feel his heart beating against her nearly bare breasts, the rise of his chest as he breathed, the heat of his body warming the deathly chill from hers.

  For the first time in forever, she suddenly didn’t feel quite as alone.

  In her suffering, she had company. Someone who knew. Who understood. Who shared her pain. It had been so long since the dark cavern surrounding her heart had lessened, since she hadn’t felt consumed by the loneliness, but with Cort holding her…there was a flicker of light in the darkness trying to take her. “Cort—”

  He cleared his throat. “I gotta go check the chili.” He dropped his hands from her face and stood up to go, pulling away from her.

  Without his touch, the air felt cold and the anguish returned full force. Kaylie caught his arm. “Don’t go—” She stopped, not sure what to say, what to ask for. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to leave, and she didn’t want him to stop holding her.