The Crystal Warriors Series Bundle

by Maree Anderson

  He prodded the bruise forming on his cheek. His lips curved ever-so-slightly upward. This world’s females were not fragile creatures, easily cowed and overwhelmed by a man’s superior strength. And, despite its unnaturally constructed dwellings, and a myriad of other aberrant sights that made his hackles rise and his sword hand ache with the need for a weapon, this world promised a thousand-fold improvement over the unending black-on-black void of his former prison. At least here he could feel—even if what he felt was a desire so intense he burned with it. Even if his warrior’s soul yearned for something he could not yet name.

  So far as tortures went, lusting after a woman and suffering the indignity of an unsuccored cockstand, was an exquisite agony. Still worse would be to go haring after her, and then, just as he laid hands on her, pressed his lips to hers, filled his hands with her, to be snatched up and condemned to the crystal once more.

  To be imprisoned again, eternally enduring memories of the woman he had been so close to possessing. That would be hell, indeed. But Wulf had never been one to back away from a challenge.

  ~~~

  Chalcey shuddered at the memory of Ray’s handsome face twisted by something dark and loathsome. It could have been worse—so much worse. An unarmed man, no matter how skilled, was no match for a man armed with a knife and the desire to use it.

  God only knows what she’d have done if Ray had stabbed The Warrior.

  All the perfectly logical reasons why she’d never bothered to spend her hard-earned money on a cell-phone seemed ridiculous now that she’d been a hair’s breadth away from being forced to watch a man bleed. And she had no doubt that Ray, goaded into drawing that knife in the first place, would have then turned his attentions on her.

  Dragging herself up the two flights of stairs to her studio seemed to take a lifetime. She flicked on one set of lights, leaned against the wall and… slid slowly down it, weak-kneed and shaking, her pulse beating a rapid tattoo. Whoa. Between money worries, Ray’s unwelcome attentions, and The Warrior’s far too welcome ones, she was about ready to break out her last bottle of tequila. But she had an early start and a helluva lot of work to put in before lunchtime tomorrow. She crawled to her feet and wobbled through to her bedroom. Drowning her sorrows would have to wait.

  Not one, but two pieces of crystal spilled out when she tossed her handbag on the bed. The crystal must have cracked and broken when her bag hit the pavement. Shame, but hey, wasn’t like she’d had to pay for it or anything. She placed the pieces atop the crate that served as a bedside table, figuring she’d give them to Francesca when her mother next decided to inflict her with a visit. Francesca had been heavily into crystals and all that New Age baloney, hence naming her daughter Chalcedony. It was supposed to be a nurturing stone, or crystal or what-the freak ever, that absorbed negative energy, removed hostility and promoted feelings of benevolence and generosity.

  Yeah, riiight.

  She peeled off the cursed star-spangled dress, smooshed it into a ball, and hurled it at the wall. It didn’t make a gratifyingly satisfying splat that might have appeased her somewhat. It merely unraveled enough to slither gracefully to the ground. Damn thing. She was never wearing it again. Ever.

  She stalked through the studio to the women’s bathroom to tend to her scrapes and bruises. Turned out none of them were bad enough that they’d bother her during classes. Ditto her feet, thank goodness. Limping ’round during classes because she’d been stupid enough to run through the streets barefoot, wouldn’t give that good of an impression to new students. At least she’d had the presence of mind to curl her fingers into a proper fist so she hadn’t damaged her hand when she’d landed one on the big guy’s face.

  Dammit. She’d forgotten the makeup remover. She trudged back to her bedroom, promising herself that one day she’d earn enough to rent a really nice apartment. The novelty of living in her studio and sharing the bathroom designated for female students was wearing off real quick.

  While she creamed off her barely-there makeup, she wondered how Sam was making out with that other guy. Marcus. He seemed halfway decent. And he wasn’t lacking in the looks department, either. Definitely more Chalcey’s type than Ray. Mind you, after getting to know him better, any guy was more her type than Ray. What a creep. A scary, sinister, horror-movie-worthy creep. If he ended up haunting her nightmares so she couldn’t sleep, so help her, she’d track him down and finish him off herself.

  But the last thing she saw before she crashed into sleep was not Ray. She saw a pair of intense blue eyes in a darkly tanned face. She relived The Warrior’s hunger when he’d kissed her. And the profound despair that she’d witnessed on his face as she fled from him pierced her heart.

  An insistent pounding echo yanked her from the bliss of sleep. She rubbed her eyes and rolled over onto her back. It took her a few moments to realize that someone was banging the bejesus out of the street door downstairs. It’d be Sam, of course. Funny that she hadn’t rung up, like she usually did when she visited, but whatever. Or perhaps she had rung, but Chalcey had been so deeply asleep she hadn’t heard the phone.

  She flung herself out of bed, yawning as she made her way through to the main studio. For such a small woman, Sam was sure making a hell of a racket. But at least she was dropping in to help out as she’d promised—and doubtless to burn Chalcey’s ears with all the icky details about her latest sexual exploits, despite knowing very well it grossed Chalcey out.

  Honestly? Considering she hadn’t had a date in like, forever, it was plain depressing hearing about guys with magic tongues who gave multiple orgasms—especially when she’d never had a multiple orgasm.

  She flicked on the studio lights and padded across the cold floorboards. And she resolved not to squirm and make “eeeew!” noises if Sam got too personal with her descriptions. It would only encourage Sam to elaborate. Instead, she would—

  The clock on the studio wall slammed into focus.

  Three-thirty in the freaking morning? She would wring Sam’s darned neck, that’s what she’d do.

  She stomped down the stairs. Various weird and wonderful torture methods caroused through her sleep-deprived mind. She rarely bothered with the security chain on the street door, so the instant she disengaged the lock, the door flung inward, nearly rearranging her nose. “Jeez, Sam! Watch it, will you?”

  Except it wasn’t Sam. A large hand grabbed her and spun her around. Before she could utter a word, another hand covered her mouth. A big body crowded her forward into the small stairwell entranceway. The door slammed shut and the sound resounded loudly in her head like a knell of doom, shutting her away with the consequences of her stupidity.

  Instincts zoomed into overdrive. She wasn’t going down without a fight. She managed to pry open her jaws just enough to sink her teeth into the hand covering her mouth.

  The intruder released her and as she whirled to confront him, the shadows resolved into a really large man dressed like an advertisement for “We Love Leather”.

  He was back.

  The Warrior. The man who’d kissed her. The man she’d run from because he scared her—not because of his physical strength and the way he’d dealt to Ray, but because of what she’d felt the second she’d laid eyes on him. Instant lust. Instant wanting. A need so powerful that her heart ached, and her body demanded things she’d never wanted from a man before.

  He was dangerous. She didn’t want to admit it but it was the stark truth. He was standing right in front of her again, and this time, she might not have the strength to resist him.

  ~~~

  Chapter Three

  The Warrior grabbed her by the elbows and lifted her until they were both eye-to-eye. Boy, was he pissed. Chalcey could tell from the barely restrained fury seething in those baby-blues. Drumming her bare toes against his legs didn’t provoke so much as flinch. Crap. She was really in trouble this time.

  “Unless we are about to indulge in a romp amongst the cushions, do not bite me again, woman.”

/>   “Excuse me?”

  “You bit my sword hand.”

  “Yippee for me!” Hang on just a sec, his sword hand? Fabulous. Trapped in the stairwell with a reeeally large, really delusional man.

  Chalcey tensed her muscles, intending to kick him right where it hurt, but he must have read her intentions in her eyes. Being an exceptionally tall man, when he dropped her it was from a great height. She hit the concrete floor in an ungainly sprawl, landing hard on her butt. Really hard.

  “Owww owww owww!” Her bruised butt hurt like… like… forty bastards, as her dad used to say. She blew the hair out of her eyes before scowling up at The Warrior. It was her best “you so don’t want to be anywhere near me right now if you know what’s good for you!” expression, the one Sam assured her was guaranteed to send guys running for cover.

  It was completely wasted on him.

  “Now we are even,” he said, tone laced with an irritating degree of smug male satisfaction.

  She peered up at him in the dim light afforded by the street lights outside. Had that chiseled, square-jawed face of his actually cracked a smile? Stop the presses.

  He reached down to grasp her wrist and yank her to her feet.

  “Okay,” she said, opting for sarcasm to cover her dismay. “Now you’ve stroked your male ego and we’re even, get the hell out!”

  “I cannot.”

  “It’s really simple, bud. Just turn around and stroll on out the door. Oh, and don’t come back or I’ll call the cops.”

  “I do not wish to leave. And my name is not Bud.”

  Chalcey digested this first piece of information with growing confusion and had another thought. “Uh, how exactly did you find me?” He sure hadn’t followed her home. She’d checked as she fled hell for leather. Numerous times.

  He hesitated, as though unsure exactly how to explain. “I followed your… call. I sensed your… your presence calling me in my mind, and I followed it. You became clearer the closer I came to you. Thus I tracked you to this abode.”

  She inhaled a deep breath, held it, and puffed it out sharply through her nose. He had some sort of a crush on her, poor guy. It was kinda sweet. And kinda hot, too. And… kinda disturbing.

  He still had hold of her wrist so she punched her arm straight up in the air to shake off his manacle-like grip. Epic fail. Damn. It’d worked just fine in self-defense classes. “Okay. You look like a decent enough guy—” an absolute babe, in fact, even if he wasn’t the brightest star in the galaxy “—and I’m incredibly flattered. Not to mention grateful for you helping me out with jerk-off Ray, and all. But flattery and gratitude only gets you so far. Hence the reason I punched you in the face in the first place. You need to leave now.”

  His attention flicked to the light filtering down from the studio above. He gazed up the stairwell. “Your abode is up there? This world contains wonders beyond imagination! Come. You will succor this bite before it festers and then we will discuss our situation.”

  He pulled her toward the stairs. She dug in her heels and leaned her weight backward. Another wasted effort, for he merely yanked her off her feet and into his arms. “Woman, you are a most stubborn creature.”

  His breath tickled her temple. His arms caged her, holding her tightly. Her body told her exactly how much she liked the feeling of his arms about her. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.

  “I have found there is only one way to deal with stubborn creatures.” He heaved her up and over his shoulder, and then proceeded to climb the stairs as though she weighed no more than a small child.

  The indignity of hanging head down over someone’s shoulder helped Chalcey shake off the haze of sensuality he’d wrapped her in when he’d hauled her close and she’d been plastered up against his big, hard, body. Manhandling her? Again? This was so gonna have to stop. She kicked and thrashed her arms, all the while hollering like a banshee. He patted her rump but otherwise ignored her.

  She’d been many things in her life but because of her height and in-your-face cleavage, ignored by men had never been one of them. And she wasn’t at all convinced this was a good time for it to start, either. She screamed louder, putting her heart and soul into it.

  Chalcey generally considered herself to be of above-average intelligence—aside from opening the door without checking who was on the other side first, which was obviously just plain stupid—so when he got halfway up the stairs, she quit struggling. But only because she didn’t want him to lose his balance and for them both to take a nasty tumble down the stairs. And by the time he reached the top of the stairwell, she’d concluded that screaming her lungs out wasn’t going to do her any good at all, either. Her studio was located in a semi-commercial area, it was excruciatingly early on a Saturday morning, and the chances of anyone hearing her and coming to investigate were practically zilch.

  Maybe it was lack of sleep screwing with her judgment, but she decided that despite his superior height and obvious strength, he was relatively harmless. If he’d really wanted to harm her, it made sense he would have done so before going to all the trouble of hauling her kicking and screaming up a steep flight of stairs. Besides, her throat hurt from all the useless screaming.

  He shouldered open the door to the studio and halted. She turned her head to one side to watch his reflection in the wall of mirrors. He stood blinking in the bright lights, mouth agape. He turned full circle, slowly, before striding over to examine the mirrors more closely. From the curiosity wrinkling his brow, she would have bet her last dollar that he’d never seen one before.

  “Heyyy,” she said. “How about I fix up your hand, so you can go back to wherever you came from? How does that sound to you?”

  Again she was thoroughly ignored while he reached out to tap the mirror with a fingertip. He turned his attention to the UV lights striping the ceiling. “Mayhap you are a priestess of magic?”

  A priestess of what? “They’re just lights.”

  “Lights?”

  “Yes, lights. See that switch, there? By the doorway?” She waved a hand in the general direction of the wall-mounted switch. “Press the top button-thingy down and see what happens. Go on, I dare you.”

  He reached out a tentative hand. Huh. This should be interesting….

  He thumbed the light switch, blanketing half the room in darkness. He reared back, his arm tightening about her legs so he didn’t drop her. Considerate of him. “That is powerful magic, indeed,” he said.

  Sheesh. Compared with her recent encounter with Ray-the-Knife, her current situation struck her as way more comical than scary. The laugh bubbling from her lips morphed into an unladylike snort. “I wish I was one of those priestesses of yours. Then I could just turn you into a tadpole, flush you, and crawl back to my comfortable bed. It’s a light switch, okay? Nothing special. Every house has one. Just turn it back on.”

  “I can do this?”

  “Of course you can do this. Jeez! Anyone would think you’re straight off the plane from Timbuktu or somewhere, and that you’ve never seen electricity before. Actually— You’re not, are you? From like, Timbuktu?” That might explain a few things.

  “Nay. My land is called Styria.” He hesitated, as though fearful of the consequences should he actually dare touch the switch again.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh. My. God. I give up. Turn the thing on, already.”

  He did so and surprise, surprise, more light flooded the room. He amused himself by playing with the light switches. Off, on. Off, on. Off, on. She stifled a sigh. Me and my big mouth.

  Off, on. Off on. Okay. Enough was enough. “Who’s a clever boy,” she cooed. Or at least, tried to. It took a lot of effort to summon a convincing coo when you were slung over someone’s shoulder. “All right. You’ve had your fun. Put me down so I can sort out your hand and send you on your way.” And go back to bed, and dream about you doing terribly naughty things to my terribly willing body.

  “Where do you store your herbs and medicinals?”

 
; “If you mean my first-aid kit, then it’s thataway.” She pointed toward her private rooms off the main studio. “And last time I looked, I had two legs and knew how to use them. You’ll do yourself a real injury if you insist on being all macho and don’t put me down. And that, I won’t be able to fix.”

  He ignored her—of course—and strode toward the partially open sliding door. Only to hesitate before it.

  She craned her neck around to see what the problem was. “It’s a door. Open it fully and we’ll both fit through just fine.”

  More hesitation. “I do not see how.”

  “You could put me down. Then I could—”

  “I think not.”

  “God! What the hell have I done to deserve this? It’s a sliding door. See that indentation in the metal handle there? Just put your fingers in and slide it—no! Not that way. To the right.”

  He followed her instructions… with such brute force that the unfortunate door sailed right off its runners and smacked against the wall. It teetered for a second or two, then tipped over, smashing down on the newly filled floor. Chalcey moaned and covered her eyes with her hands. “I so do not need this crap at this ungodly hour of the morning. Will you just put me down? Please?”

  To her immense surprise, this time he didn’t ignore her and actually did as she’d asked.

  Hot-faced and disheveled, she tossed her hair out of her eyes, hitched up her drawstring pants, and ladled her breasts properly back into the crop top she’d worn to bed. When everything was at last back in its correct position, she glanced up to find him staring at her.