Darkness Awakened

by Stephanie Rowe

  Desperate to shake the debilitating terror, she kissed him back. She met his tongue the moment he invaded her mouth, basking in the taste of him, sweet and rough, like cinnamon and the freshness of the earth after a cleansing rain. He was life, he was strength, and he was passion.

  She felt his strength, knew he could keep her safe. Protect her against the malachite, against her own demons. She wanted him to hold her. She couldn't stop thinking about how he'd washed her hair, how he'd so carefully removed her earrings, like she was some fragile treasure who needed to be carefully handled.

  No one had ever treated her like that, and she knew he wouldn't if he knew what she'd done, but it didn't matter in this moment. It didn't change the ache in her heart—

  His fingers wrapped around her hair, a caress that could so easily turn into something dangerous. A reminder of how powerful he was, that he could snap her neck in a second. She put her hand on his wrist to pull him away, to find space.

  Then he kissed her deeper, and her grip turned into a plea for him to hold her tighter. She pressed herself against him, tugging him down toward her, frantically kissing him back, afraid it would end. Terrified she would lose the moment before she was ready. Before she'd gotten what she needed from him. Not just sex. A completion of who she was. A moment of belonging, even though she knew it was just a moment, a whisper that would disappear the instant the real world intruded again. But she had to have this gift, to take it with her, the feeling of being treasured and safe.

  It wasn't simply a kiss, wasn't simply lust. He gave her strength, he took away her fear, he made her come alive in a way she had never before allowed herself, because he was strong enough to handle her, because his kisses made the Illusions fade, taking away all the negative energies that Illusions fed on. Kissing him made her someone she'd never had the chance to be.

  He slid his hands up her back, cupping her shoulder blades as he devoured her mouth. Then he dropped his head, and his mouth was on her breast, grazing his teeth over her nipple as the towel slipped. She trembled under the assault, her body reaching out for him. For all that he was. For all that he could give her.

  His arms went around her, and then she was sitting on the counter, her legs around his waist, his mouth on her breast. He grabbed one of her hands and pressed it to the front of his jeans. He sucked in his breath as she palmed his erection, straining at the denim.

  Her body went into hyperawareness as she realized the path they were on. "Stop." She pulled back and shoved at his chest, her lungs tight with panic.

  He pulled back immediately, his breathing heavy, his hands dropping from her hips to the counter she was sitting on. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

  "No. It's not you. I can't do this. I can't—" She was falling too hard, too fast, for a man who could never accept who she was. She couldn't take that next step with him, or it would break her when he finally walked away or turned on her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean— I wanted to— I can't—"

  "I can't believe how much I want you." He bowed his head, his shoulders bunched as he tried to regain control. "What are you doing to me, Madison?" His voice was low, as if he was fighting to remain calm.

  "I don't know," she whispered.

  She'd never burned for a man like this, never felt a need to lose herself and forget who she was and the dangers she brought with her. She grabbed another towel from the rack and hugged it to her chest, as if the towel could protect her from her intense need for him. How could she be thinking about him with Ashley out there, being hurt? With malachite all around her?

  He raised his head, and his eyes were nearly black with barely contained violence. "I wish you had enough self-preservation to be terrified of me."

  She stared at him in surprise as his words settled in her. "I am terrified of you—" But she stopped.

  Because he was right.

  When had she started thinking of him as a man who could save her, instead of the monster who would destroy her?

  Because she had.

  Chapter Twenty

  As Madison stared at him in surprise, Ajax forced himself to drop his hands and step back.

  His cock still rock hard from the kiss, he fought to get back in control. He was stunned that she'd been the one who'd had to call it off. Where was his discipline?

  This should be about Viktor. It was about Viktor.

  How could he be getting caught up in kissing her when Viktor was in danger? He'd been fully intending to have her naked and writhing beneath him, screaming his name—

  He gripped the edge of the sink to keep himself from grabbing her as she scrambled off the counter, hugging the towel tightly around her, as if that did anything to make him forget she was stark naked beneath that towel.

  His body was rigid as he stared into the mirror, struggling to find his self-control as he watched her scuttle to the other side of the bathroom to a pile of clothes stacked on a hamper.

  "Viktor would never part with those stones," he ground out, trying to focus. "Someone got to him." His gaze shifted to hers, their eyes meeting in the mirror, as she grabbed a pair of white lace panties and slipped them over her feet. "Someone is laying the groundwork for something, and you and Viktor are a part of it."

  She fixed her towel, hugging it to her chest as she tugged her panties over her thighs and out of sight. "And my sister is a part of it, too. All of us, together."

  He fixed his gaze on the wall above her head, unable to deal with her getting dressed. He rubbed his hand over his jaw, then caught a whiff of a stale scent. He paused, recognizing it.

  The scent was on his right hand, the one he'd been holding the large piece of malachite with.

  He knew that scent. What was it?

  He raised his palm to his face and inhaled, sifting through his memories, opening his mind to the stone and the secrets it held, to its connection with Viktor. It didn't smell like Viktor's house. It had been somewhere else before being brought to Madison's...somewhere Ajax had been before...

  She glanced over at him as she turned her back and pulled her bra on. "What are you doing?"

  "Tracking." He closed his eyes and focused his entire mind on that one scent, drawing it into him, breaking it down piece by piece. Viktor's scent was intermingled with the scent Ajax was trying to identify, and he knew Viktor had held the stone when it had been in that place...when it had been taken from him...

  Ajax could almost picture the place...almost remember where it was...the stink of cigarettes...the unique tangy scent of cheap air freshener...the smell of mildew and mold...of wet earth...

  And then Ajax remembered the scent. It was from a run-down bar not far from his cabin, deep in the woods. The perfect place for a couple of Order members to throw back some beers and not have anyone around them care what they were doing.

  Nightshade Tavern.

  He stood straighter and reached across the distance with his mind, channeling his connection to Viktor directly to that location. He knew Viktor was blocking their blood bond, but if Ajax knew where Viktor was and targeted him directly, he might be able to force a link...

  Ajax felt a glimmer of Viktor's presence. Not a full connection, more like he was a shadow in Viktor's mind. Triumph made him grin, and then it faded when he sensed Viktor's confusion...torment...he felt Viktor stumble, struggle to focus... Viktor was disoriented...a sharp blade of pain shot through Ajax's gut, and he knew it was Viktor's pain he was feeling.

  Viktor was in trouble.

  He looked at Madison. "We need to go. Now."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Viktor braced himself against the door of the men's room, palms flat against the stripped paint. He inhaled the stench of stale urine, of bathrooms that hadn't been cleaned in far too long. The odor was pungent and brutal, and he sucked it in gratefully, using the rancid scent to clear his head. To penetrate the fog closing down around him.

  He felt a shadow of a familiar presence in his mind, trying to pull him back from the edge. He reached for it, tryin
g to find his way. He knew it...felt familiar...

  Recognition suddenly lit up in his mind, and he knew. Ajax.

  Desperately, he tried to reach out to his blood brother, but his mind was too fragmented to focus, and the fragile connection shattered.

  He tried to reopen it, but came up with nothing. He wasn't even sure how to reach out for his blood brother.

  His brain wasn't right. Something was wrong.

  Slowly, he lifted his head to inspect his surroundings, but recognized nothing.

  Where the hell was he?

  He shoved off the wall, staggering slightly. His knee was throbbing, unable to hold his weight. He looked down and saw his jeans were torn and shredded. His knee was huge, swollen, and discolored. It had to have been shattered in a bunch of places to look like that. Healing, but still damaged.

  What had happened to him?

  The door opened, Viktor's radar screamed he was in danger, and he charged instinctively. He had the man down on the floor, his throwing star at his throat before his victim could blink.

  Then Viktor saw who'd he'd taken out. The man was pale, his eyes wide, sweat dripping down his temple. "Take my wallet," the man wheezed. "I swear, you can have it."

  The man was human, overweight. He smelled rancid, like decay and self-abuse...

  Not a threat.

  Shit. He should have known that before the man had even entered the room, but even now, Viktor's instincts were screaming at him to save himself, to kill the bastard before he could hurt him—

  Oh, shit. He was descending into paranoia. Again.

  No. He would not let that happen. He would not go there. He would not.

  He tightened his grip on his captive, fighting sudden desperation, the urge to run, to flee. He forced himself to remain still, reminding himself of Zion's words from so long ago, when his leader had dragged him out of the hell of insanity back to his own mind.

  The threat is only in your mind. There is no danger. You are safe. Whenever you feel like running, you know it's not right because you would stand and fight. That's how you know it's not real. Not. Real.

  With Zion's voice ringing in his mind, Viktor felt the sharpest edges of his panic begin to dull. Whatever the threat was, it wasn't real. He would never run. Ever. "Where are we?"

  "Nightshade Tavern. Please let me go. Please. I have a wife and three kids."

  His victim's fear penetrated Viktor's mind, and he forced himself to release him. His victim scrambled to his feet and raced out of the bathroom.

  Viktor crouched in the corner of the bathroom, his heart pumping too fast, his adrenaline too strong. He tried to pull himself together. To focus.

  What did he know? He'd been here before. He was sure he had.

  It was a bad place.

  Bad for him.

  He needed to get away.

  Things were after him...

  "It is not real," he said aloud. "These thoughts aren't mine." He took his throwing star and pressed the tip of it into his forearm, into his brand, until he began to bleed, just as Zion had taught him. Just as he'd done five hundred years ago, when he was fighting to find his way back from the screaming chamber of horrors that had become his mind after all those years of being tortured.

  A cold sweat broke out on his back at the thought of what he'd once been. I will not go back.

  He focused on the pain, on the feel of his own blood dripping down his arm. This is reality. This is my truth. Everything else is a lie. The rest is not real.

  He continued to focus on the blade digging into his skin. He blocked out every other thought, every other stimulation, until he felt his mind begin to clear. Felt his strength begin to channel back into his body. Felt his brain rebuild, sifting through his thoughts, starting to heal the breaks in his mind.

  Cold determination and a warrior's focus disintegrated the last remnants of fear, and he stood up, embracing the return of his truth, of the warrior he was.

  The door slammed open again, and Viktor didn't even flinch. He knew it was a drunk human before the pathetic creature had stumbled through the door. Viktor watched in disinterest as the bar patron lurched across the bathroom toward the urinal.

  His mind was moving at rapid speed to assess every scent, sound, and sight like the disciplined warrior he was.

  It was on his third pass that he picked up a scent he recognized, finally recalling why he was there and who was waiting for him at the bar.

  Charles.

  His lips thinned into the brutal smile he always wore before he killed, then he pulled the door open and stepped out into the bar.

  It was time for payback.

  Madison grabbed the door handle as the Escalade tore around the curvy mountain road, the earth dropping off too sharply on her right. "Where is this place? Nightshade Tavern?"

  "Southern Oregon." Ajax's grip was tight on the wheel. "Not too far from my place." He pressed the gas even harder, the truck teetering for a split second on two wheels before it jumped forward.

  Madison scrunched her eyes shut as they approached the next sharp curve. "When you sensed Viktor, was my sister there?"

  "I don't know. He's the one my blood bond is with."

  She remembered Xander's suggestion to blond bond with Madison to find Ashley. "If you're blood bonded, why can't you find him automatically?"

  "The connection goes both ways. Both sides have to be open. He's shut me out." Ajax glanced up at the sky, which was getting dark. "We're still an hour away." He punched the steering wheel. "It's taking too damn long!"

  "What about Xander? Can you call him and see if he's closer? Maybe he could get there sooner, if Viktor's in danger—"

  Ajax's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "No."

  "Why not? He sounded like he would help, like he'd—"

  "No!" His voice was hard and unyielding. "Drop it."

  "Fine." Madison folded her arms over her chest, unable to suppress her worry.

  The man who had washed her hair so tenderly and kissed her senseless was gone. He'd been replaced by a man on the edge of control.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Viktor paused in the doorway to the bar, scanning the room carefully, his throwing star still clenched in his palm, tight enough to cut through the skin. The bar was crowded with men, and a few women. The room smelled like stale beer, and Viktor was acutely aware of the thud of darts on his right, the scent of arousal from the couple huddled over a table in the corner, and the underlying mustiness. The jukebox music was tinny and loud. Voices of customers were raised over the din.

  Viktor shut all the distractions out and opened his senses to the only one that mattered.

  Charles.

  Viktor located him by the stink of decaying blood on his clothes. He was hidden in a booth by the emergency exit.

  Viktor smiled, and strode purposefully across the room toward Charles, catching his first sight of the bastard when he was less than twenty feet away.

  A black ball cap was pulled down low over Charles's forehead, a faded denim jacket over his hunched shoulders, feet splayed beneath the table.

  Viktor's skin began to crawl the moment he saw him, and he shoved one of the points of his throwing star deep into his hand, embracing the pain and using it to keep his head clear. Charles looked up as Viktor neared, the aggression in his eyes in stark contrast to the unassuming slump of his body. "Viktor."

  Viktor winced at a sudden stabbing sensation in his temples. "Charles."

  Charles gave a thin smile. "The weapons."

  More pain in Viktor's head. "I don't know what you're talking about." He fought the urge to crush his palms to his temples, which were suddenly throbbing with pain.

  Charles smiled and pointed to Viktor's shoulder.

  He looked down and saw the nylon strap of a bag across his chest. He reached back and realized he had a bag slung across his back. Jesus. He hadn't even known it was there.

  "Put it on the table and sit down."

  Viktor slid into the
seat opposite Charles as he tossed the bag onto the table, struggling not to let his expression show his shock that he hadn't known he was carrying it, his panic that he couldn't stop himself from handing it over. Come on, Viktor. Focus.

  "Is this all of them?" Charles asked.

  Viktor looked at the bag, had a fuzzy memory of stuffing bloody Calydon weapons into it. Tried to remember. "Yeah. Maybe. I'm not sure."

  Charles unzipped the bag and rifled through it. Viktor didn't lean forward to look inside, jammed his throwing star into his palm beneath the table, desperately trying to remember where he'd gotten the weapons. What he'd done. Into his mind came a clouded image of his throwing star sinking into the throat of another warrior. Of ripping the warrior's arms open—

  Viktor looked down at his hands, expecting to see them covered in blood.

  They were clean, except the trickle of his own blood over his palm. Had he done it or not? Sweat dripped off his temple and splashed on his hand, and his chest began to tighten. Zion. It's happening again.

  There was no response.

  His breath was fast now, too fast, and he didn't know how to channel his focus to reach his leader. Couldn't remember.

  Charles looked up. "Ajax's weapon isn't here. Where is it?"

  Viktor didn't flinch, but he felt a stab of pain inside him. Of grief. Of regret. He remembered going after Ajax. But he'd failed. He hadn't killed him. Had he? "I didn't kill him."

  "You sure?"

  He would never have killed his blood brother...except he knew that was a lie. It was possible...if they'd gotten to him again...nothing could be worse than the horrors he'd done five hundred years ago...

  Come on, Viktor. Don't let this happen again. Fight it!

  He jerked his head up and glowered at Charles. "I didn't kill him. I know I didn't—"