by Julie Miller
The sorcerer thumbed the signet lightning bolt on his ring, twisting it around his finger. “She's still mine, warrior. When I'm done, she'll see you for what you truly are.”
“You're the monster.”
Setting his shoulders in grim defiance, Brodie walked toward the stairs. When he reached the door, Damon spoke. “She won't believe you, warrior. She'll never believe the truth.”
Brodie tried to form a prayer. For BJ's sake, he tried to reach the God who struck down evil and cherished the pure of heart. She lay so still in his arms, a sweet woman-child charmed into malevolent sleep.
Brodie straightened to every inch of his massive frame and turned around. He had been raised to fight. He had taken a blood vow to protect those who could not protect themselves. Even against an indefatigable enemy, he could do nothing other than fight.
“Let her go, sorcerer. You're killing her. Her body may live, but her mind and spirit—you're killing her from the inside out. I won't let you do it.”
“I'll let you play your game for now. Protect her as best you can.” Damon smiled. “You'll suffer that much more when all this is done. She'll forgive me. But will she do the same for you when you finally walk away?”
The immortal phantom, the devil's own brother, laughed. The black sound wove its way into Brodie's soul, haunting him as he descended the stairs.
“Go on, boy. I'll let you out later.” BJ pulled the door shut behind Duke. She stretched her arms over her head and sighed wearily. She turned and looked at Brodie, working at the stove.
His big body dwarfed the dimensions of her spacious kitchen. Yet he seemed to fit. His presence added warmth to her home. He gave her the security of his strength, his sense of honor, and his knowledge. More important than anything else, he had answers to her questions.
“Brodie?”
Anxiety and fatigue had ground her nerves into a tangled pulp. Her sleep on the ride home had been fitful at best. Even though her eyelids felt like lead shutters, she refused to close them now. She feared the nightmares she recalled might be real. She never wanted to visit that dark place again, that foggy cavern in her mind where shadows blocked the light, and where love and free will didn't matter.
Brodie led her into the living room. “Let's sit where it's comfortable. I want you to drink this.”
BJ accepted the cup and saucer he gave her and sat on the sofa. She sniffed the steam rising from the cup, liking its sweet smell. “What is this?”
Brodie settled at the far end of the sofa. “Cambric tea.” He hesitated a moment, and a wistfulness softened his hard expression. “It's warm cream blended with weak tea, extra sweet.”
“I bet you’re full of battlefield remedies like this one, hmm?”
A dusky light glittered in Brodie's eyes. Would she ever see him laugh or smile? Did it make any difference? Certainly she’d found little to smile about lately.
Brodie fixed nothing for himself. He just sat there, watching her, a lonely sentinel ensuring the safety of those in his charge. BJ sipped the tea. Its heat trickled down into her belly, soothing her from within. But goose bumps tickled her skin.
“Why did you leave me?” She barely heard the words herself, but Brodie understood the underlying question clearly enough.
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
His gruff, deep voice washed over her with the same effect of warmth and comfort as the tea he had prepared. With that small morsel of encouragement, she lifted her gaze to his. “You thought last night was a mistake.”
Tortured fires blazed behind the ice in Brodie's eyes.
“Last night was a priceless gift I will cherish the remainder of my days.”
BJ swallowed a large gulp of tea, scalding the delicate lining of her mouth. “Of course,” she rattled off in wild sarcasm, “last night was so beautiful, and I was such a rockin’ fine lover that you couldn't stand to be around me anymore. Emma must be paying you good money to protect me.”
Brodie pried the cup and saucer from her hand and set it on the table. “Emma's not paying me a dime.”
He caught her trembling hands in his. BJ could only stare at the battered fingers that held hers so gently. “Then I'm a charity case. You must have owed Jonathan an enormous favor to do so much for me. Just what exactly does a security consultant's list of duties include? Did you log last night in your little notebook?”
“You can't really think that.”
His index finger nudged her chin up. The canyons and crags of his face couldn't mask his eyes. The ice had melted. Dark pools of gray reflected concern, kindness, and what…? Loneliness? Need?
Her defenses eroded along with her self-pity and her wounded pride. She felt the same loneliness, the same need. He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. She felt the caress all the way to her toes.
“This message keeps flashing on and off in my head that says you're using me. That I shouldn't trust you. But in here…” She tapped her hand over her heart, retrieving a very different message.
Blindly, she reached for him, going up on her knees to match his level. She turned her face into his neck, hugging him tightly.
“I love you, Brodie.” She whispered the words against his musky, beard-roughened skin.
“You can't.” His hard hands bit into her shoulders, pushing her away.
“But I do.”
He held her at arm's length, scowling at her as if she were crazy. “How can that be? He said—”
One moment, he bruised her with his grip and disbelieving eyes, the next, he had fallen back onto the cushions, gathering BJ into his embrace. She sprawled on top of him, snug in the cocoon of his arms, battling for breath as he rained hard, hungry kisses on her eyes, her cheeks, her throat, before claiming possession of her mouth.
BJ, raw with stress and fatigue, put up no resistance. She accepted the brush of his tongue, the brand of his lips. She opened her mouth when he begged entrance, welcoming him with the taste of love unencumbered by pretension or self-reproach.
He ran his hands down her body, tracing the flare of her hips, cupping her bottom and pulling her up to meet the deep thrust of his tongue. BJ squirmed on top of him, adjusting her rounded contours to the flat planes of his body. A groan rumbled in his chest, a feral call answered in the tightening rush of heat between her legs.
Brodie finally came up for air, tearing his lips from hers and nuzzling the curls at her temple. “It's too soon for you. We should stop. You need your rest.”
He panted the husky words into her ear, thrilling her with his unmistakable desire. She started to ease herself into a less intimate position, but he tightened his arms around her.
BJ rode the rise and fall of his chest, relishing the protective way he tucked her head beneath his chin and stroked her back. He was an incredibly tender caregiver. He championed her troubles with the dedication of a true knight. If she could rally enough patience, if fate gave them enough time together, she could soften his heart and find the key to unlocking his soul. He could learn to love her in return. Hope's fiery tendrils eased down her spine, soothing her in ways his sweet, milky tea could not.
His voice rumbled beneath her ear. “Do you remember anything from this morning?”
As far as declarations of love went, Brodie's left a lot to be desired. Still, she cast aside the nigglings of doubt that threatened her contentment. The touch of his hands, his strength, his fierce kiss—they all told her a message his words could never say.
The pressure on her back increased. “I'll be sent to hell, if I ever die. You should hate me. I should make you hate me.”
“What are you talking about?” It took an insistent struggle for him to allow her to pull away far enough to prop herself up and see his face. She cradled his damaged jaw in her hands. She looked beyond the scars, beyond the inflexible mouth, and saw the hero behind the harsh facade.
“You are a beautiful man, Brodie Maxwell. Whoever did this to you ought to burn in hell.” Heat pricked at her eyes, too dry and weary
to shed any more tears. “You have the soul of a true knight. The spirit of a warrior. The honor and kindness of a real gentleman. How can I not love you?”
Brodie turned and pressed a kiss into her palm. “I do not deserve such a lady.”
“But…?” The dreaded word hung unspoken in the air.
Brodie sat up, spilling BJ onto his lap. He plumped a pillow behind him, then pulled her securely into his arms. “The sorcerer who did this to me gave one unspeakable antidote for lifting the curse.”
His heart thumped beneath her ear, beating a staccato syncopation to his halting words. BJ thought her own heart had stopped beating. “How?”
Long, hushed moments ticked by. BJ clung to Brodie, squinting away the sleep that tried to claim her.
“Someone I love must sacrifice her life for mine.”
The unadorned statement didn't shock her as much as the next words that floated down to her ears.
“I love you.” He quickly shot down BJ's foolish, fleeting notion of hope and happily ever after. “That's why I can't stay with you. I won't risk your life. I'll stay until the sor… until I know you're safe. There's someone I want you to talk to. After you rest, I'll take you to him.”
“Who is it?”
“Someone who can help.”
“You're helping me.” She tried to recapture the closeness, physically and emotionally.
“I can't do this alone. Hawk might be able to see a clue I'm missing. He might know a way to battle mind control.”
The living room spun around her. BJ closed her eyes to ward off the dizzying sensation. The vertigo attack of panic came from the inside, from a frightening place she thought had been left far behind her. “He's a shrink, isn't he?”
Brodie's palm framed the back of her head, slowing her spinning universe. “Counseling psychologist. But he has other skills I'm more interested in. He's Native American. A shaman.”
“No.”
“Honey, I'll be right there with you.”
“No,” she repeated more forcefully, burrowing against him. “I know you mean well, but I won't be picked apart. Damon's experts couldn't find anything wrong. Damon cares about me and couldn't help. I'm not about to let a stranger play with my head.”
Brodie swore under his breath. “Damon's experts damn near killed you. Don't you remember? I carried you out of there myself.”
BJ frowned. This intimate, heart-exposing conversation had gone off on a very weird tangent she didn't understand. Damon had tried to analyze and erase the demons in her head, but had failed. Whatever she was up against was more powerful than scientific experts. They didn't deserve censure. Brodie's continuing jealousy and distrust were unwarranted. Damon had failed, but not for lack of trying.
“Can we change the subject?” Compromise seemed to be out of the question. She wished her faith in Brodie could be absolute. She wished she didn't feel so compelled to defend Damon.
“Beej.” Gently, but firmly, he slipped his hands around her shoulders and started to push her away.
BJ clenched the folds of his shirt between her fingers, holding on, knowing already he was slipping away from her. A shadow of desperation clouded her voice. “You'll stay this time, right?”
“Look at me.” BJ tilted her chin until she could see his eyes. She wanted to weep at the powerful emotion she saw there.
“I love you more than the twenty lifetimes I've lived. I'll love you for twenty more beyond this one. But I can't stay with you. The people I care about die, BJ. Violently. Needlessly. They die. You deserve to see your eightieth or ninetieth birthday, to live a full life and die a peaceful death.”
He trailed his fingers along her cheek, his touch matching the regret in his voice. “I can't give you that. I destroyed what that sorcerer loved. And his curse has made damned sure that I'll never have what I took from him. I can't sire a child with a mortal. I can't grow old with you. All I can give you is a few days, maybe a few hours. Then I have to go. I'll have to fight another battle, earn another scar. I may not be here long enough to help you through this. I have to do what's best for you. The longer I stay, the less I can guarantee you'll be safe.”
BJ flattened his palm against her cheek, holding him close. “You know who's responsible, don't you?”
He nodded. “Maybe my friend can help you find a way to fight this.”
“Why won't you tell me who you suspect?”
“Because I've never met anyone like you before. I doubt I ever will again. I don't want to spoil these few precious hours I have with you. They'll have to last me through eternity.”
Knowing he would eventually leave spoiled her contentment already. Yet, when his mouth bowed to hers, she gave herself willingly. He kissed her until she thought her heart would burst with sorrow. She kissed him back, held him close, loved him until he pulled away with a reluctant sigh. He tucked her under his chin and rocked her in his lap.
“Sleep, honey. Nothing will hurt you while I'm here.”
Gentle, cleansing sleep pulled her into a loving embrace. But in the haze before losing consciousness, she heard Brodie's final words.
“Nothing except me.”
Chapter Ten
Long after midnight, Brodie finally drifted to sleep with BJ tangled in his arms. He had tried to move her once, but she stirred and grew restless. He shed his shirt, boots and belt, and pulled her back into his embrace, lying with her on the sofa, telling himself he did it to help her sleep, not admitting he did it for his own selfish need to touch her and keep her safe.
“Hey, big guy.” BJ's honey voice and sweet lips nuzzled against his ear. She hugged him from behind the chair, slipping her arms around him and leaning forward to look over his shoulder. The kitchen was dimly lit in the wee hours of the morning. Brodie knew such utter contentment, it humbled him. The place felt right. The time felt right.
The woman felt right.
“How's the little guy doing?”
Five tiny digits latched onto Brodie's pinkie, tugging on the bottle he held in his hand. The baby's luminous blue-green eyes lit with delight when BJ popped her head over Brodie's shoulder. The baby sucked greedily, content in his father's arms.
“He's perfect, of course.” Brodie smiled proudly. “Strong like his father. Smart like his mother.”
BJ nipped at his ear, zinging a charge like lightning through each nerve ending. “You're not prejudiced at all, are you?” she teased.
He angled his head and caught her mouth in a brief, searing kiss of promise. “Want to make another one?”
He loved her ready response to him. Her eyes couldn't mask her hunger. Nor did they hide the beckoning little gleam that made him feel he was the only man who could sate her desires. “When he goes to bed, so should we.”
“If you insist.”
Suddenly, the perfect, peaceful tableau shattered with the crash of glass. Brodie leaped to his feet, laid his son in BJ's arms, and ran through the house to find the source of the noise.
Danger pricked his senses into keen awareness. He felt his knife in his hand. Foreboding made the air heavy. The evil was in the house. He felt the curse around him, sucking the life and love from his world.
He kicked open the first door, finding dank stone walls draped with European tapestries. Clarinda lay on the canopied four-poster, coughing up blood and barely conscious. Jakob was shrouded on the floor at the foot of the bed. Bryndan and Nestor shared the trundle, looking pale, unconscious, near death.
“No!” Brodie roared, slamming the door to the past. BJ was with him now. He had a future here.
This was some damn spell of memory. But he couldn’t escape. The sorcerer clutched him in his grip, mercilessly replaying the nightmares of Brodie's past.
He butted his shoulder against another door, desperately seeking escape from his dream prison.
He found himself outside, in the rolling hills of the British moors. Lynelle rode ahead of him on her dapple mare, her long golden hair falling loose from its pins. She laughed over h
er shoulder, urging her mount into a gallop. Despite her skirts, she sat astride the saddle, as skilled a horsewoman as she was a lover.
Brodie reached for her, remembering what lay ahead, shouting her name. Just as before, the horse stumbled. Lynelle sailed over its neck. She landed on the rocky ground, her body twisted at an unnatural angle. He knew before he reached her side that she was dead.
“BJ!” Brodie called to her, fighting for consciousness. He wanted her to free him from this nightmare, he wanted her to take the baby and run far away.
Only there was no baby. There was no wife. This was not his future.
Abruptly he landed in the streets of Beirut. Missile fire studded the smoky air. Zora ran to him, apologizing, saying her good-byes. The shot thudded through her. She sagged in his arms. Dead.
Brodie ran as hard as his legs would take him. He crashed through the gates of BJ's estate and bolted up the drive. When he cleared the trees, he saw the house in flames.
“BJ!”
He tore through the house, hoarse and breathless and sick with dread. Instinct took him to the computer room. BJ sat in a rigid, straight-backed chair, holding the baby in her arms. Wires attached their scalps to a wall lined with monitors. Golden stars and jagged lightning bolts blipped across the silvery computer screens.
And he was there, laughing. Gauzy white robes billowed behind him. His delicate, brave daughter stood to one side, arms stretched beseechingly toward her father. “No, Father. No more.”
The sorcerer looked at her, then the baby, then BJ. Finally he lifted his black, mocking gaze to Brodie and smiled. He raised his hand before his face and twisted the ring on his third finger.
Flames exploded and Brodie lost everything he had ever loved.
Brodie screamed. He screamed and cried and begged for mercy.
The scream woke him.
He jerked into consciousness as if someone had fired a gun next to his ear. Brodie swiped at his forehead, mopping sweat, feeling disoriented. The warmth that had lulled him to sleep had disappeared.
