by Sandy James
“It’s beautiful there,” Rebecca said. “Artair took me last summer to see the Highlands.”
Yeah, thanks for the reminder of how happy you are, Rebecca. A vacation with a loving husband. Something else you’ve done that I haven’t and never will.
As if she would admit to the Guardian that jealousy ate her alive, that she resented the other Amazons so much it twisted her stomach into knots.
Sarita would never hurt her sisters like that, although shielding her thoughts from Gina was sometimes next to impossible.
“How long are you gonna stay?” The Guardian’s voice held a note of hesitation that said she felt some of Sarita’s restlessness.
Sarita swallowed her feelings to keep them from Rebecca, a skill she’d rapidly perfected. “Do you need me back soon?”
What a lame question. Earth, Fire and Air rarely needed Water’s help. From Sarita’s perspective, they spent too much of their time in battles checking to see if she was safe.
I’m an Amazon too, damn it!
She might be ridiculously short, and she might not have all of their powers, but she could use a sword. And her martial arts skills grew every day, thanks to Zach spending so much time instructing her in tae kwon do. The man had five black belts, after all.
“No, we’re good,” Rebecca replied. “You have a good time. Just call when you’re ready to come back to Avalon. I’ll get Rhiannon—”
“I have a goddess too. She’ll send me back when I’m ready.”
There was a long silence. “Are you sure?”
“Look, I know she’s not around as much as your goddess, but—”
“Not as much?” Rebecca’s incredulous tone struck a nerve. “Sarita, she’s never around.”
Even though the other goddesses liked to meddle in their Amazons’ lives, that didn’t mean Ganga was neglectful because she gave Sarita space. Rebecca didn’t understand the relationship she had with her goddess because Rhiannon and Freya constantly stuck their noses in everyone’s business. Even Ix Chel was known to interfere more often than necessary.
Ganga gave the Amazons space to do their jobs without interference, and Sarita had grown damn sick and tired of explaining that. “I need to go.”
“Stay safe.”
Sarita ended the call without a characteristic farewell, which Rebecca would be sure to notice. She didn’t normally lose her temper. Maybe the extended summer drought drained her Water powers.
Something had been prodding at her, poking at her normal, easy contentment. She loved being an Amazon. She loved being a part of fighting for the greater good. But lately Sarita had been out of sorts. Discontented. Restless.
Sitting down on a large boulder, she stared down at Marbas. “Time for me to have a real vacation.” She sniffed the air. “Ah, the heather smells heavenly.”
The lion snorted some black smoke out his nostrils.
“Yeah, whatever. You’re too pissed to see the beauty around you. Fine. I need to get you to—”
The world went black.
Chapter Three
She was much smaller than Ian expected. Short. Very short. Standing next to him, she wouldn’t even come up to his armpit. Weighed next to nothing. Just a little bit of a thing.
Her skin was the most beautiful shade of brown, her hair the color of a raven’s feathers. He wondered if her eyes were as dark and exotic as the rest of her.
He kicked the sword she’d dropped aside and stepped over Marbas. While he could probably have untied the angry demon, Ian left well enough alone. Marbas had served his purpose. The other Amazons could decide his fate.
Ian’s job was to collect his precious bundle, guard it with his life and hope she didn’t awaken to try to kill him before he got her secured at dorcha àite.
It shouldn’t have turned out this way, having to use a woman as live bait. He’d have to push aside the guilt that nibbled at his soul. Once justice had been served, he could leave this world behind. The fact that he would find himself bound for the fiery pits of hell didn’t sway his commitment, nor did it honestly frighten him. That had been his fate all along. If justice was served in the end, he’d welcome the fire and brimstone.
He preferred hell to being sent back to limbo.
Once he reached the clearing, he leaned against the same boulder his captive had used as he prepared to call to his mistress. She’d be delighted things had gone so smoothly. Not that he honestly gave a damn whether she was pleased or not.
He meant to hold her to her promise. By capturing the Amazon, he’d fulfilled his part of the bargain. When he delivered this tiny woman, his mistress would give him what he desired.
Justice.
Or revenge?
He’d lost track.
After propping his captive up against his shoulder so he could see her face, Ian smoothed her black hair away from her cheek. Her skin was satin beneath his fingertips. He couldn’t resist the urge to rub the pad of his thumb over her full lower lip, wondering how much she’d hate him when she awoke. A pawn in a dangerous game, she was a means to an ends. Nothing more.
So why did his quest suddenly seem like a betrayal of the very feminine figure he cradled?
Allowing himself to go soft now wasn’t an option. He stopped wishing things could have been different. He’d wasted that kind of fruitless hope long ago... Back when he’d been laird and tried to hold his clan together after the English gutted their village. Back when he’d been nothing but a man faced with the impossible—to keep the men, women and children of his clan from starving and from dying.
He’d succeeded at neither.
Thanks to one man, Ian’s clan had suffered as no one should suffer.
And in the end, the very people he’d tried to save had attacked him.
Threats of hell’s fire didn’t frighten a man who’d been tied to a stake as he burned to death.
Ian would have his justice. He would kill the man who had destroyed his clan and turned them against their laird. That man had been gifted with immortality. Ian would find a way to end that. Maybe then he could release the hatred he’d held for so long. His soul might be in hell, but at least he’d be free of the rage that drowned him.
His burden groaned and stirred in his arms. The hard tap on the head had done the trick to render her unconscious, but he needed to get her back to the castle before she regained the strength to fight him. He didn’t want to hurt her again.
“M’lady!” Ian called as he stood and held the Amazon close. “I have her!”
Light engulfed him as his mistress transported them to the dark fortress Ian called home.
* * *
Sarita opened her eyes to mere slits, fearing any light would increase the pounding in her skull.
“Here, lass,” a deep voice with a thick Scottish brogue said. A cool cloth slapped over her eyes. “’Twill help with the pain.”
She breathed a sigh, grateful to know she was back in Avalon.
Why was Artair caring for her instead of Beagan and Dolan? The changelings had the healing touch and had always nursed her through any injury.
“Thanks,” she said. “What hit me? Did Marbas get loose?”
“Nay. He was still tied as I carried ye away.”
That made no sense. “You were there? Geesh. Don’t you trust me to do my job?”
“Hard to deal with a demon when you’re out cold.”
His unusual tone, one of amusement at her predicament, sent a shiver of concern racing over her skin. “Something hit me.”
“Not something, loving. Someone.”
That teasing voice didn’t belong to her Sentinel.
Snatching away the wet cloth, she came face to face with someone she’d never expected to meet. “Oh, my God. It can’t be...”
Qui
rking his eyebrow, her dream lover stared at her as though she were the oddest creature he’d ever seen. She knew that look well, having seen it before. Many, many times on many, many faces.
Back in her childhood when at age five she’d surfed like a pro, as if born in the water.
Back when she’d worked at Sea World, as though an Indian woman shouldn’t want to wear a wetsuit and train seals.
Back in Avalon when she’d managed to bring Artair down for the first time in hand-to-hand combat like a woman her size should never be able to fell a man of his size.
Her dream lover had that same expression now. And goddess, if he wasn’t more disgustingly handsome in the flesh.
Red hair, something that often looked goofy on a man, had a different effect on this man. The candlelight sent shimmers over the thick, shoulder-length mane. He wore a white shirt and plaid the way Artair always did, albeit this kilt was solid black not tartan. Nor did the cloth reach over his shoulder to rest against his heart.
Candlelight?
Dragging her thoughts away from the man who’d haunted her sleep, she took in her environment. The room was foreboding, the dark stone walls giving the place the ambiance of a prison. Or a tomb.
There only five pieces of furniture in the enormous room, including the bed she rested on. Two chairs sat in front of a large hearth, a wooden bureau rested in the corner and a table stood next to the bed.
A bedroom.
The man took the cloth from her grasp, his fingers brushing her hand. His sharp intake of breath echoed hers. A suspended second passed before he dipped the cloth in a bowl of water, wrung it out and handed it back to her.
“How’s yer head feeling?” he asked.
“Like someone hit me with a club.” She pressed the wet cloth to her forehead.
“Nay. Not a club. The hilt of my sword.”
It took a moment for the blunt words to register. Her dream man had hit her? Why would he have a sword? No one other than Amazons or Sentinels carried one as a weapon in this century.
After his confession, she should have been afraid. She wasn’t, but she didn’t have time to ponder the oddness of that.
Sarita couldn’t help but ask, “Why would you hit me?”
“Seemed easier than trying to hold onto you while I explained that I had to kidnap you.”
“Kidnap?” His bluntness was as harsh as a slap.
“Aye. You’re now my prisoner.”
The hell I am!
She sprang out of bed fast enough it would probably have impressed Gina—a jump worthy of Air. She launched the cloth at him as she moved, the slapping sound it made as it hit his face giving her a small thrill of victory.
Her eyes combed the dismal room, searching for anything she could use as a weapon.
Where’s my sword? Where’s his?
They stared at each other from the opposite sides of the bed. His stubbornness seemed every bit as strong as hers.
“Seems we have ourselves a stalemate, lass. You’ve got nowhere to go. Accept this and ’twill go easier on you. I mean you no harm.” His gaze gave the room a deliberate appraisal. “Maybe ’tis not grand as what you’re used to, but ’twill be comfortable. You’ll have food. A bed. Shelter.” His grin made her temper rise. “And the pleasure of my company.”
“Until when? Until you decide to murder me?” Her raised voice echoed through the cavernous room.
His mouth dropped to a harsh frown. “I would never murder a helpless lass. Especially such a wee one.”
The man had a talent for pushing her buttons. It took all of Sarita’s self-control not to let her pride grip the reins and declare she was an Amazon and not a helpless wee lass. He might already know, but she couldn’t be sure. Then again, why else had she been targeted for kidnapping, especially while on the hunt for a demon?
Her curiosity slipped out again. “Why me?”
“A means to an end.”
“Who are you working for?”
“’Tis not for you to know.”
She mentally ran down the list of usual suspects and kept coming back to the same name.
Helen.
But this was far different than any of her other attempts. She’d never lowered herself to use humans for anything other than minions and cannon fodder. Her allies so far had been Ancients.
Sarita went for broke. “Helen arranged this, didn’t she?”
“Pardon?” His confused expression was far too genuine.
“Quit playing dumb. Helen’s behind this.”
“Nay, lass. Yer spittin’ in the wind.”
Between the man’s strong brogue and his drought of words, she wanted to scream her frustration. Instead, she seized the only advantage she had. Surprise. She might be wee, but she was damned fast. Although she probably wouldn’t make it out of the room and had no true plans beyond a simple escape attempt, she had to try.
She darted to the door, grabbing the handle. His responding steps smacked against the stone floor.
Sarita jerked the heavy door open before his arm snaked around her waist, hauling her back against his hard, warm body. Her fingers gripped the doorknob like a falling person clung to a ledge. His hands slid to her hips as he pulled her lower body off the floor. Her backside rubbed immodestly against his groin. If she let go of the knob, she’d fall and smash her face.
Yep, I’m good and stuck.
“Next move is yours, lass.” The laughter in his voice was a blow to her ego. This guy didn’t even know her, and he didn’t respect her abilities, either.
She’d have to show him otherwise.
Sarita let go, bending forward until her hands pressed to the cold floor. His grip tightened on her hips. Knowing he’d underestimated the strength of her small body, she wrapped her feet around his knees. Then she pushed off the floor, tightened her abdominals then reared to bash the back of her head against his face.
A loud crack sounded when her skull connected with his nose, and yet, he didn’t drop her. He uttered a Gaelic curse, the same one she’d heard slip from Artair the last time she’d accidentally caught him between the legs when they’d sparred. She really couldn’t savor the small victory because she’d managed to hit him with the already sore part of her head. The world rotated and swam in her eyes, enough she feared she might be ill. She unlocked her feet from behind his knees.
The man released her.
She took a few stumbling steps and realized she’d go down hard. Before she hit the floor, she found herself scooped up into his arms and placed back against the cool sheets.
He retrieved the cloth, refreshed it and pressed it to her face. “Ye are resourceful. I’ll give you that. But ’tis no use, loving. You’re my guest for now.”
Until I can find a way to get out of this hellhole.
“There’s no way out,” he said.
“You’re telepathic.”
He snorted a laugh the same way she always did. Despite her anger, she found it an endearing quality, and it dawned on her she felt no fear of this man. Perhaps because he’d been intimate with her for a week in dreams, showering her with passion that made her body respond simply remembering it.
“I’m not,” he said.
“Not what?” Heavens, but the memories of his touch turned her brain to oatmeal. “Oh, not telepathic. My name’s—”
“Rebecca. I already know yer name. I’m merely trying to think as you would were I in your place.”
Her head spun ever more. Sweet goddess. This man had no idea he’d taken the wrong Amazon. For now she’d let him assume she was Rebecca. Maybe then she’d learn his game.
“So you know me. Yet you don’t reciprocate.”
He quirked a red eyebrow.
“Tell me your name!” she demanded.
“Ia
n. Call me Ian.”
The dizziness subsided, and she focused on his face. A small trickle of blood came from one nostril. She sat, took the towel from his hand and stretched up to wipe the stain away.
He didn’t flinch, standing there as she finally rose on her knees and crawled closer to be able to reach him.
My, but he’s tall. Taller than Artair.
With gentle strokes she cleaned away the blood. “I didn’t mean to break your nose.”
“Aye, you did.”
“Are you always so blunt?”
His smile hit her like a red hot branding iron, her body sizzling and burning with need despite all her efforts to tamp down the arousing memories. “’Tis my way. I’m a man of few words.” He lightly touched her hand, pressing the cloth against his nose. “’Tis not broken. Merely sore.”
She almost recoiled when his other hand rose to touch the right side of her face. His fingers rose to trace the dark scar—a “gift” from the goddess Sekhmet—that ran from her eyebrow to arch around her cheek and end at the small cleft in her chin. Then he touched her mangled right earlobe. The one Sekhmet had jerked a hoop earring from, ripping it right through the skin.
It took every ounce of her strength not to turn away. If her disfigured face disgusted him that was his problem, not hers.
His eyes met hers again, but he said nothing.
“I’ll escape,” she promised.
“You’ll try. But now, you’ll rest. I’ll come for you when supper is served.” He nodded toward the bureau. “There are gowns should you wish to dress more in harmony with our present location.”
Sarita waited until he was gone before relaxing her guard. Her head pounded, and while she wanted nothing more than to sleep, she concentrated on reaching out to Gina.
“Sis? Are you there?”
Her mind stayed silent—an eerie stillness that marked the first time the women hadn’t been linked since Johann and Gina had waltzed right into Sea World, where Sarita worked, and announced both of the women were some kind of superheroes.
Sarita had been working with her favorite pet—a harbor seal named Toby—when they’d found her. After babbling some ridiculous story about Sarita’s new destiny, they’d inform her it was time to go. She’d lost her temper and sent Toby chasing after Johann. Not that the seal could hurt him. Watching the big animal hound Johann all the way to the spectators’ bleachers had made both women laugh aloud.
