Beguiling Delilah: Romancing the Guardians, Book Six

by Lyn Horner

  Consumed by hatred for the woman who had claimed the old man’s title after his death, an honor Balor had once coveted for himself, he adjusted the hood of his dark gray cloak, drawing it low to conceal his disfigured face. Then he left his quarters and strode down a long corridor with concrete block walls to Sara Flewellen’s cell. The identical twin of her hated sister, she’d fallen into Balor’s web two years before, thanks to her drug habit and his promise to make her his consort if she helped him obtain the Guardians’ powerful secrets – a promise he had never intended to honor.

  He opened the door and walked into the sterile looking room. The walls were bare, the furnishings minimal, consisting of a narrow bed, a small bureau and locked cabinet containing drug paraphernalia, bandages and the like – guarded by the stocky, hard-jawed matron stationed on a straight chair in one corner. The hag kept a close eye on her charge during the day. Another woman stayed with Sara at night.

  Sitting on the bed with her knees drawn up, the wild-eyed drug addict stopped rocking back and forth when Balor entered. “Master! I’ve been asking for you,” she cried, scrambling up and weaving across the room toward him. “Make her give me my medicine. Please!”

  He caught her wrist, holding her off to avoid being scratched by her ragged fingernails. Her forearms were bandaged, he noticed, to stop her from tearing her own flesh in her frenzied craving for heroine. At least she didn’t smell disgusting today as she often did. The matron must have cleaned her up recently.

  “You will get your medicine after you help me find your sister,” he said with a fingertip over the hole in his throat, allowing him to speak. “Kenya is a big place. My men need to know exactly where she is.”

  “I-I haven’t sensed her since the last time,” she said, turning her face aside, evading his gaze.

  “You’re lying,” he hissed. This on top of the Frenchman’s failure to catch Delilah Moreau sent his temper soaring. He slapped Sara hard, making her screech and drop to her knees on the concrete floor. Grabbing a hank of her hair, he drew another cry from her lips. “You know where Lara is and you’re going to tell me. Or I will kill you, do you understand?”

  “Yes!” Wincing in pain, she blurted, “I saw her in a jeep on a dirt road. Conn was talking, hoping their guide could find the village.” She clutched the hand pulling her hair. “Let go. Pl-please.”

  “What village?” he demanded, tugging harder on her hair.

  Gasping, she screwed her eyes shut. “Where Adam Dvorak is working on the farming project,” she cried.

  “And what is the name of the village?”

  “I-I don’t know. Th-they didn’t say. I swear!” She began to blubber, tears running down her sunken cheeks.

  Balor believed her this time. Releasing her, he straightened as she collapsed onto her side on the floor. “I should be able to find out now that I know the seventh Guardian’s name. You’ve been a big help, my dear, with a little coaxing.” Turning to the matron, who watched impassively from her chair in the far corner, he ordered, “Give her a dose, but not too much. I need her alive and able to talk a while longer.”

  “As you say, Master,” the ugly battleax said, rising to follow his order.

  Leaving her to it, he rushed back to his quarters. He would search the internet for farming projects in Kenya and find out which one Adam Dvorak was employed at. Then he’d contact the men he had sent to Nairobi and direct them to the place where Lara Flewellen was going. Finally, he would have her!

  * * *

  A deep voice woke Delilah. Eyes blinking open, she lifted her head from Leon’s shoulder. “What? Did you say something?” she asked, groggy with sleep.

  “No, it was the captain speaking. He said there is a blizzard moving into the northeastern states. Our plane is being diverted to Washington, D.C.”

  Delilah stiffened, now fully awake. “But our connecting flight leaves from New York City, not Washington. What shall we do?”

  Leon clasped her hand, giving it a squeeze. “We will figure it out when we get there. Do not worry. This could be a good thing. If the Hounds are waiting for us in the New York airport, they will be thrown off our trail.”

  “I suppose,” she said, not so certain. If the evil group had an outpost in New York, might they not also have one in the U.S. capital?

  * * *

  At about the same time, Balor got a call from one of his men at JFK Airport, who informed him the flight from Nice was being diverted along with many others due to the storm now blanketing the city. Furious over this latest obstacle to his plans, he listened with gritted teeth as the man reported that the flight was being sent to Reagan airport in D.C. Crediting him with thinking to check, Balor ended the call.

  He had no minions in D.C. but did have one in Baltimore. Hastily contacting the young woman, he ordered her to get to Reagan Airport on the double and watch for the couple who would soon arrive. He repeated their descriptions given to him by Hugo Duret.

  “Don’t attempt to stop them,” he directed. “The man is apparently the woman’s bodyguard. He’d be too much for you to handle alone. Instead, I want you to tail them and learn if they board a connecting flight, and where to. Report back to me as soon as you know and I will have them tracked to the Guardians’ lair.”

  “As you command, Master,” said the earnest young voice of his follower.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “It’s snowing lightly,” Leon said, gazing out his window as the plane touched down in Washington, D.C. “Must be the edge of the storm up north.”

  “I hope it does not get worse,” Delilah commented, leaning toward him to see out. “We could be stuck here if it does.”

  Silently agreeing, he noticed how light it still was despite the snow and the clouds overhead. They had passed through several time zones while crossing the Atlantic, gaining hours on the clock but not for his tired body. He was glad Delilah had gotten some sleep but he hadn’t been that lucky, plus he ached from sitting in a cramped seat for so long. He couldn’t wait to stand up and move.

  Once they were finally off the plane, they waited in line to go through customs, which went surprisingly fast. After that, they found their way to the ticket counter and waited in another line. When their turn came, Leon let Delilah do the talking.

  “We just arrived from France,” she told the woman ticket agent. “We have tickets for a connecting flight to Denver from New York but our plane was diverted due to the blizzard. Is there a flight from here to Denver yet today that we can take?”

  “Let me check,” the agent said, typing on her computer. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, there is a flight to Denver this evening but it’s full. We don’t offer another direct flight until tomorrow. There is a flight with one stop between here and Denver leaving in about an hour. It would extend your travel time by a few hours but you’d arrive before morning.”

  “I don’t know,” Delilah said. “We’ve had such a long day already. What do you think?” she asked Leon.

  “No, I do not like that idea.” He also didn’t want to hunt for a hotel or spend the night in the airport if they waited for tomorrow’s flight. They would be sitting ducks if any Hellhounds showed up. Addressing the woman behind the counter, he asked, “Is there a direct flight tonight from here to Salt Lake City?”

  She typed something again, looked up and smiled. “As a matter of fact, one leaves in about 45 minutes and there are seats available. However, if you change your destination, there will be an additional charge.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Delilah said. “Please book us on that plane.”

  Moments later, with their boarding passes in hand, they rushed to the security line. Perhaps due to the nasty weather, the line was short. Once through, they ran for the boarding gate, arriving there just in time to catch the plane. Out of breath, they collapsed in their seats.

  “Mon Dieu! I did not think . . . we would make it,” Delilah said, panting. “What a day this has been, but now we are truly safe, oui?”


  “Safe, yes,” he repeated, hoping she was right.

  * * *

  Balor stalked from one room to the next in his quarters and back again, impatient to hear from the young woman he’d dispatched to watch for the French Guardian and her companion. She should have called by now. Had she failed to spot the couple when their plane arrived? She damn well better not have!

  His phone finally rang. Halting, he snatched it from the pocket of his robe. “Yes,” he snapped, recognizing the girl’s number.

  “I saw them, Master,” she replied excitedly. “They came to the ticket counter after landing here, and I managed to hear them talking to the agent. They bought tickets for a flight to Salt Lake City, and they were in a big rush. I think the plane will soon take off.”

  “Good work, my dear. You will be rewarded,” Balor promised. Cutting off her effusive thanks, he placed a call to Denver, to one of three loyal followers living in the mile-high city. They were the closest ones to Utah.

  The man soon answered. “I am here, Master. How may I serve you?” he asked in a reverent tone.

  Liking the sound of it, Balor said, “I have an urgent assignment for you, John. You must gather your two comrades in Denver and get to Salt Lake City as fast as possible.” He succinctly laid out the situation, describing his quarry and stating he did not want them captured just yet. “You are simply to follow them and report their destination to me. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Master, very clear. I will carry out your orders to the letter.”

  “Good man. I will not forget your loyalty.” Disconnecting, Balor discarded his hooded robe and climbed on the high-tech exercise machine he worked out on every night. He started slow, gradually speeding up, pushing past the pain of his scarred body, knowing it was the only way to prevent the tight scar tissue from atrophying his muscles and leaving him in a wheelchair.

  He reached his limit after thirty minutes. Breathing hard, he grabbed a towel and wiped sweat from his face and neck, then walked into the bathroom to clean up more thoroughly. Pausing to stare at his likeness in a mirror above the sink, he hated the sight. “You may be the ugliest man on Earth,” he told his distorted image, “but soon you will also be the most powerful. Then no one will dare point fingers and mock you. This I swear.”

  After showering and donning a fleece bathrobe, Balor poured himself a whiskey and settled in his favorite chair. As he sipped the amber liquid, his bitter thoughts once again turned to Malcolm Flewellen, the man he blamed for everything he’d suffered, and to his precious niece.

  From what Sara had reported almost a year ago, after visiting her sister in the hospital, Lara’s injuries from the car wreck had left her scarred, although not to his own extent, Balor was certain. Once she was his captive he wouldn’t mind giving her a few more scars if necessary to make her hand over the legendary scroll she guarded. The same held true for the other Guardians.

  Although he’d never read or even seen any of the scrolls, he knew they contained prophesies given by ancient seers, ancestors of the Guardians – also his ancestors. Those ancients had received their visions of the future from a mysterious goddess, so family stories claimed. While he did not believe in any god or goddess, Balor did believe in the prophesies. They must convey frightening, tremendously powerful visions, or they would have been revealed long ago. He intended to harness that power.

  With all seven of the scrolls in his possession, he would be Master, not only of his followers, but of the entire world. A painful smile twisted his lips.

  * * *

  Night was closing in over Salt Lake City when Delilah exited the airport terminal with Leon. Struck by a biting north wind, she shivered. “I hope it’s not going to snow here,” she said, clutching the collar of her coat higher beneath her chin.

  Leon nodded. “We must check weather predictions. For now, we need to find a hotel and get some sleep.” He raised his arm, signaling a taxi stopped at the head of a line of vehicles by the curb nearby.

  The driver pulled forward and Leon opened the car’s back door. “Get in,” he told Delilah. As soon as she did, he handed her their two small bags and climbed in after her.

  “Where you want go?” the driver asked in a heavy Middle Eastern accent.

  “Take us to the Grand Hyatt Hotel, please,” Delilah said.

  “Wait a minute, that sounds expensive,” Leon protested.

  “Do not worry, I will cover it.” She patted his knee and told the driver, “To the hotel as I said.” Seeing Leon cross his arms and hearing him grumble in Navajo, she leaned into him, whispering, “Do not be angry with me. I merely wish to pamper both of us for one night. Not such a bad thing, is it?”

  He glanced at her in disapproval, but when she smiled at him coquettishly his mouth twitched. “I do not like living off my beautiful French woman, but you are impossible to resist.” With that, he put his arm around her.

  They checked into the hotel using false names again at Leon’s insistence. Delilah thought he was being overly cautious, but since she had imposed her wishes regarding the hotel, she decided not to quarrel with his decision.

  Their room was luxurious, but despite her desire to be pampered, she had no energy left with which to enjoy their surroundings. Changing into a long white t-shirt borrowed from Leon, she joined him in the king-size bed, cuddling close to his bare chest. Too tired to do more than kiss, they soon fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Drawn from lingering dreams by the touch of warm lips nuzzling her throat and a hand cupping her breast through the soft material of her borrowed shirt, Delilah purred and opened her eyes to watery morning light filtering through drapes at the window.

  “’Bout time you woke up,” Leon murmured, nibbling the crook of her neck, making her giggle.

  “Stop! That tickles,” she complained, attempting to wriggle away.

  “But you taste so delicious, I can’t stop.”

  “You must because I have to use the bathroom.”

  “Okay,” he sighed, “but hurry back.”

  “I will.” Scrambling from bed, she ran into the bathroom and attended to her urgent need. Then she filled a glass with water and rinsed her mouth to get rid of morning breath. Leon must have done the same because another glass had already been used. Pleased by his thoughtfulness, she rushed to rejoin him in the big bed. He welcomed her with open arms.

  “Now, where was I?” he whispered in her ear. “Oh, yeah, here.” He resumed nibbling her neck, making her giggle and squirm. Stretching the loose neck of his t-shirt off her shoulder, he went to work on the flesh he had exposed, his teeth and lips sending shivers down her arm and to other, more sensitive places. At the same time, he caught the hem of the shirt and tugged it upward, allowing his hand to glide across her quaking belly and up to her breast. Playing with the nipple, teasing it into a stiff point, he coaxed small, tantalized cries from her throat.

  “Leon, kiss me!” she begged, clutching his head.

  He obliged, fusing his lips with hers. Their tongues danced an age-old ballet of give and take while his hands worked the shirt higher until it was bunched up to her armpits. Abandoning her mouth, he said, “Lift your arms over your head.” When she obeyed, he stripped the shirt from her and flung it away.

  Delilah reached for him, trying to draw him back for another scorching kiss. Instead, he twisted to close his lips around the crown of her breast while his hand plied the other. She gasped at the wet heat of his mouth and laced her fingers through his hair as fire shot through her veins, making her body sizzle from head to toe. Her breath came fast and shallow. Needing him to shift his attentions lower, she arched her hips in invitation, longing for the pleasure only he could give.

  She moaned in relief when his hand moved to where she wanted it, but before long she lay writhing beneath him, delirious with need. When Leon crouched between her thighs, she met his passion-glazed eyes and choked out, “Take me fast! Now!”

  “Yes ma’am!” he growled. Bending her knees back, he lifted
her hips and thrust into her, driving a cry from her throat. She dug her fingers into his back and synchronized her movements to his. Neither of them required much time to scale the heights, flying into the ether together.

  Afterward, Leon rolled to his side, turning her into his embrace. His male scent surrounded her, his warm breath soft on her brow. Twining her arm around him, she dozed off, feeling safe and cosseted. How long they lay there, she didn’t know, but she came awake when Leon shifted away from her and rose from the bed. She cracked her eyes open and watched him cross to the window, admiring the way his tight buttocks flexed. Pushing the drapes open a foot or so, he crossed his arms and stood gazing out.

  “Aren’t you afraid someone will see you?” Delilah asked, rising on one elbow.

  He pivoted to face her, giving her a full-frontal view of his sexy anatomy. He cocked an eyebrow, lips curled in a teasing smile. “Would it bother you if they did?” As he spoke, his gaze traveled over her exposed breasts.

  “I believe it would.” She threw back the bedcovers and rose to her feet. “I do not care to share such a sight with anyone,” she said in a sultry tone, strolling over to him. Halting mere inches away, she traced a fingernail slowly down the center of his muscled chest, over his very slight paunch, past his navel toward his newly aroused penis.

  “Witch!” he said thickly, grasping her wrist, stopping her downward path. “Come with me.” Pulling her along, he strode into the luxurious bathroom. Without releasing her, he bent to turn on the shower and regulate the water temperature. Then he straightened. “Get in,” he ordered.

  Excited by visions of what he might have in mind, she complied, stepping under the warm spray. He followed her in, bringing a bar of soap with him. Lathering his hands, he set the bar aside and soaped her from her throat, down over her breasts and onward, turning her legs to jelly. She clung to his shoulders, breathing hard beneath his magical touch.