GW10 Samurai Game

by Christine Feehan

  She tested him to see his reaction but instantly realized the speculation was a mistake. Those dark eyes jumped to her face with far too much intelligence in them. Worse, he seemed to take her breath away, leaving her feeling as if every last bit of air had rushed from her lungs.

  “Why would you think that? I’m a soldier, nothing special. I don’t have a reputation for creating the most superior satellite and software in the world. I can imagine dozens of countries as well as drug cartels and terrorist organizations very interested in acquiring your brother, but there isn’t anyone who would have a reason to come after me.”

  Azami followed him away from the fallen mercenaries, noticing they were still moving away from her brothers and the other GhostWalkers. Her mind raced with the possibilities of how the attack had occurred. It was too much of a coincidence to think that Daiki wasn’t targeted. The newest satellite software, audio, and lens was light-years ahead of the competition and Daiki was reputed to be the developer. It made perfect sense that he would be in danger. They had discussed that fact at great length, Daiki and Eiji persuading her that because of her past and the job they all knew they would ultimately undertake, it would be better to keep her out of the spotlight. She had agreed.

  More than once, there had been attempts to hack into their computers. Thieves had tried breaking into their building and infiltrating their ranks numerous times. This attack on them might not have anything at all to do with Whitney. He had no idea she was alive. He hadn’t even bothered with the tracking device she knew he’d placed in many of the other girls. She hadn’t been important enough to track. She’d been nothing but garbage to him and he’d thrown her out.

  Sam puzzled over Azami. She appeared completely serene in the midst of blood and death, but she wasn’t. He couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong any more than he could have explained why he was so certain that it was Azami Yoshiie and not either of her brothers who was the most intelligent, the most dangerous, and the leader of the three, but his gut never lied to him.

  From the moment she was near him, every nerve ending in his body had gone on alert, every sense seemed heightened. He was very aware of the wind in the trees—the smoke drifting through the canopy and the sound of insects ceasing to their right. A wave of silence suddenly descended once again, spreading around them. He dropped low, signaling to her as he would his men, an automatic reaction before his brain registered that she was a civilian and wouldn’t recognize the need for silence and to go to ground. He turned his head and found she was in position, bow and arrow at the ready.

  In that one swift glance over his shoulder, he found every detail of her imprinted on his mind. The scent of her drifting with the wind, a fresh, citrusy smell that teased his senses. The way the breeze slipped fingers into her thick, shiny hair, feeding a need to do the same just to feel the silky strands against his bare skin. He knew it was insane to be in the middle of a combat situation and be so completely captivated by the way the light played over her flawless skin and brought attention to the outrageous long lashes surrounding her cat’s eyes.

  It was just a little bit sick to be so completely taken with her just because she was a warrior woman. She appeared demure and even introverted—not at all the type of woman to appeal to him. Sam wanted a woman with her own opinions, one with complete confidence in herself as a sexy, intelligent female, not some yes-person who agreed with everything he said. He wanted more than a physical attraction and, unfortunately, his relationships never seemed to last beyond the first date. He’d never considered a female soldier—not once—when he’d thought about a partner, but Azami Yoshiie was damned sexy with a bow and arrow in her hands and that composed, serene look on her face.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Her voice sang in his veins as if tuned specifically to his body. He turned away from her as a thought crossed his mind. Was he too tuned to her? Was there something else at work? He shook his head, thankful his back was to her. His thoughts were too outrageous to be considered—but on the other hand, Whitney had paired male and female soldiers together using pheromones and some sort of a virus that reacted in the brain to create paths bonding mates to one another.

  He took his time examining the terrain around them. Something was out there—and coming toward them, not in the vehicle that seemed to be going away from them. An amateur trick. He had been leading Azami toward the next bunker, hidden a good twenty feet beneath the earth, intending to get her out of danger and under wraps where the enemy had no chance to acquire or kill her on his watch. Daiki Yoshiie’s sister might be worth secrets to the billionaire. He was certain they were cut off from the bunker he’d been trying to get to.

  “What do your names mean? Azami is pretty. Does it have a pretty meaning?” All GhostWalker women, females Whitney had taken from orphanages around the world and experimented on, had been given the names of flowers or seasons. Whitney had dehumanized them, not even allowing them to know their own birth dates. Azami Yoshiie couldn’t possibly be one of those girls, but his body was too attracted and she raised such an alert, his radar shrieking at him. Something was off somewhere. He kept his tone very casual and very low, projecting his voice solely to her, as if they were discussing the weather and the topic didn’t matter at all.

  “My name can be interpreted as heart of the thistle or flower of the thistle. In any case, my father thought the name was pretty.” She kept her voice equally hushed. There was affection for her adopted father in her voice.

  Sam didn’t make the mistake of turning around, but his heart rate jumped, just for a moment at the word “flower.” “And your brothers?”

  “Eiji can be interpreted as two protectors.”

  “A good name for a bodyguard,” Sam commented. “And Daiki?”

  She laughed softly and he did turn, the sound was intriguing and musical. He could listen to that sound forever. She was still ready, the bow and arrow waiting, but her eyes were soft with memories.

  “Daiki means great tree. Even as a young boy he was big.” She hesitated. “We tease him about being so powerful and great, but his name can also mean noble, and just between the two of us, so he doesn’t get a big head, I secretly think his name says who he really is.”

  The crack of a branch snapping was loud. Something hit a tree trunk with a resounding crash. Sam turned and dove onto Azami, all in one move, taking her down hard, both arms going around her and rolling away from the sound. He did his best to protect her from the worst of the rocks and fallen branches. Azami didn’t fight; instead she ducked her head into his chest and held on while he took them as far from that sound as possible.

  The explosion rocked the ground, the sound so loud it hurt their ears. Sam put his lips against Azami’s ear so she would feel his mouth moving. His words, however, were projected into her mind. Are you hurt? His breath caught in his throat—waiting.

  Azami shook her head, an almost imperceptible movement.

  They have someone waiting ahead of us and on either side. They’ll keep blasting, herding us toward their trap. I want you to backtrack . . .

  Before he could finish, she shook her head again and pressed her lips against his ear. “I’m staying with you. Just move.”

  Azami was telepathic. There was no question in his mind she was psychic. She’d felt those surges of energy when he’d contacted Kadan and Nico and she’d heard him clearly, although he hadn’t spoken aloud.

  Thorn stiffened, her fingers curling around the dagger hidden beneath her jacket. She’d screwed up. Totally screwed up. The moment Sam’s arms had wrapped around her body and she felt him, felt every muscle hard and defined, felt his much larger body imprisoning hers, she went into major meltdown. Never, in all her existence, had such a thing happened. Her world—she—was all about control.

  Eight years of her life had been spent in torture and she’d never flinched, never once made a mistake. The years with her father had instilled even more discipline, and yet with Sam’s scent finding it
s way into her lungs, invading every one of her heightened senses, she couldn’t find her breath. The sensation was so strong, so intrusive, she felt threatened at her most elemental level—and yet more alive than she’d ever felt in her life.

  She had been very careful to keep apprised of Whitney’s experiments and she knew he paired GhostWalkers with his orphaned female soldiers, but she was gone long before Sam had become a GhostWalker. She couldn’t be paired with him. Whitney could have perhaps saved something of her DNA to pair her with Sam, but he didn’t have access to Sam prior to her being thrown away. It was impossible and yet . . .

  Breathe.

  That single, velvet-soft enticement filled her mind, rocking her far more than the second explosion did. His voice was a caress, a weapon with more power than a knife or a gun had over her. Instinctively she began to inch the dagger from the sheath. Sam’s hand clamped down hard on her wrist.

  Our enemies have us surrounded. Do you really want to go to war with me right now? Let’s get out of this first and deal with what’s happening between us afterward.

  She detested that he knew her reaction to him—but at least she wasn’t alone. He’d admitted he was just as shaken as she was. Shame poured through her. Regret. She had dishonored herself and her father by such a disgraceful mistake. Nevertheless, she had to move forward. She relaxed her grip on the dagger and nodded her head to indicate she agreed with him.

  We move straight ahead. They’re trying to keep us boxed in. We’ll have to take out the soldiers in front of us as quietly as possible and slip through their line. I’ve tried to isolate separate sounds to see what we’re looking at, but the concussions messed up my hearing.

  Sam’s voiced steadied her. He was matter-of-fact, a soldier assessing their situation. She forced air into her lungs. Sharing her mind with him seemed almost more intimate than sharing her body. He was everywhere, his body rock-hard while she had melted into him, becoming part of him. She felt as if she shared his very breath. She was samurai and she could handle this utterly intimate position with a fellow warrior.

  My hearing is messed up as well. But there are more than four of them on our left side. I think both vehicles and the helicopter were meant to drive us to the foot soldiers. Oh, God. The moment she opened her mind fully to him to push her thoughts to him, he flooded her mind with—him.

  He filled her, all those dark lonely places she kept hidden from the world—from the ones she’d come to love. There was no way to hide from him. He was warmth and strength and everything she didn’t believe in and distrusted. Loneliness lived and breathed in her. She was careful to keep who she was hidden, especially from Daiki and Eiji. She didn’t want them to know the darkness permeating her, and yet she was instantly exposed and vulnerable to this total stranger. Worse, once he flooded her mind with his strength and purpose, with the essence of who and what he was—that brilliant, determined, and very confident warrior—she felt more connection to him than she did with any other human being.

  I agree. They’re using military tactics on us.

  Azami hesitated before venturing her opinion, but she’d thrown her lot in with this man, at least until they were out of the situation. I think the mercenaries are considered expendable. They had no idea you have a military compound anywhere close to them. They were too relaxed. The real soldiers are in front of us.

  For one heart-stopping moment her breath caught in her throat as his lips seemed to press ever-so-briefly against her ear. I think you’re right. So the real question becomes, who really is after us, because they sure as hell know about the military compound and that they’re on a time limit. My people will be coming in hot and fast.

  She turned her head to look at him. The moment their eyes met, his so dark and velvet soft, her stomach reacted with that strange fluttering. She smiled at him. Then we’d better get to work before someone else gets all the fun.

  A slow grin spread across his face and reached his eyes. Approval was there and in spite of her determination to remain unmoved by anything else this man did, warmth spread through her.

  My boss would kick my ass for deliberately taking you into combat.

  I’m very proactive when it comes to saving my own life, she assured him. Or going after someone who endangers my brother. We need to know who is behind this. Thorn put steel into her voice.

  She wasn’t going to back down. The attack hadn’t been directed at the compound itself. More than likely the threat was to her brother, and she’d been the one to allow him to take her place in the public eye. She moved subtly, telling him to let her go.

  Sam nodded and signaled straight ahead. She liked that in him. They weren’t going to waste time and energy on the expendable mercenaries hired basically to get killed—he was going after the real threat. And he didn’t waste valuable time trying to argue with her; he recognized that she was no liability to him but rather a seasoned warrior.

  They moved slowly, using the sounds of their enemy to cover their presence. Thorn would have preferred the night, but she could be invisible during the day nearly as well. The soldiers would be on high alert, hunting the two of them.

  In the trees, she warned. Three o’clock.

  Another at nine o’clock. Branches are too thick at twelve. Maneuver around and see if you can spot him. Take him out with your bow. I’ll handle the other two.

  Her stomach muscles protested. The trees were a good thirty to fifty feet high. If he used a gun, the noise would draw the enemy in numbers. She could … Thorn stopped abruptly as another thought occurred. Sam was an enhanced GhostWalker. She hadn’t seen him cross that slope to get to the mercenaries, but he’d killed three of them before she shot the driver. True, she’d been distracted by the helicopter, but still, he’d moved too fast for anyone normal. Was it possible that he moved the way she did? Faster than the speed of light? A form of teleportation? Could there be two people capable of such a thing?

  She slipped past him, careful not to disturb leaves as she used an animal’s tunnel to scoot through the heavier brush. She went about three feet before she turned to look over her shoulder. Sam wasn’t there anymore. She glanced toward the tree at nine o’clock and then tried to see the one at three o’clock. The view was entirely obscured, and in any case, she had a job to do.

  Sam needed privacy to work his skills. Sending her off to find the enemy was a calculated risk. Could he kill both snipers in the trees before she was spotted? He didn’t waste time, taking the closest tree, the one at three o’clock. The man was up high, about thirty feet, sitting in the crotch of the tree, his rifle resting on the branch snaking out to provide both cover as well as support.

  Trees were extremely dangerous when using teleportation. Too many sharp edges and the potential for missing smaller, unseen twigs made the idea terrifying, but his enemy was sitting up in that tree with a sniper rifle, hunting him and Azami. He wasn’t about to let that go. In any case, the foot soldiers had told him nothing about this particular attack. He wanted to find a way to follow the thread back to the snake’s head and he had to do it before Azami got hurt.

  It was difficult not to think of her as a soldier. She was too well trained and it was easy to see her as a warrior rather than someone he needed to protect. She felt capable. She felt, gut-deep, like a partner. Still, he had to get into both trees and take out the snipers if they were to hold out until help came.

  He studied the tree carefully, taking great care to find the perfect place to insert his body without damaging it and still get to the sniper before the man could alert the others—or kill him. He watched as the wind blew through the leaves and shifted the branches subtly. It was fortunate that the crotch of the tree was fairly bare of snapped-off branches, lessening the chances of making a mistake. He didn’t want to end up with a stake stuck through his leg—or any other part of his anatomy.

  He picked his retreat, a spot closer to the other sniper, one that should afford him a good enough view to scope out an entry point. Unfortunately
, the space was free of cover and he’d have only a moment to slip into the brush before the sniper would spot him. To ensure his chances, he would have to cause a small distraction, buying him just enough time to vanish.

  Sam made the jump fast, a blinding, blurring speed that took less time than his thinking process had. His body hit the vee of the tree perfectly, but the momentum nearly threw him off the other side. Something bit hard at his calf and dug into his back, but he dismissed the pain and caught the sniper’s head by his hair, jerking it back as the knife bit deep into the throat. He shoved the body from the tree as he made the jump back to his retreat point, hoping the other sniper would look up at the movement of the body and give him those few seconds he needed.

  He found himself a little disoriented, but he managed to slip into the brush and lie flat, his heart racing as he checked to make certain he was still all in one piece. Blood seeped from a stab wound on his calf where a broken branch had jabbed him. He couldn’t get his hand to his back without disturbing the brush around him to test for blood, but it hurt like a son of a bitch, so he didn’t need evidence that trees were not the place to try teleportation. Still—he was going to do it again.

  He studied the sniper through the foliage. Dark hair, dark skin, yet not black, the man definitely knew the business end of a rifle. Sam found having enhanced vision was very helpful in just these situations. The sniper was much higher up in the tree, the branches thick and plentiful, making the tree easy to climb but much harder to teleport into. It would take seconds to actually make the jump and kill the sniper, but the hazards were far greater. He sighed. He was going to take a hit with this one.

  Sam teleported through those close branches to the spot he’d chosen directly behind the sniper, another thick branch with smaller limbs sprouting in all directions. The sniper was speaking softly into his radio. The language shocked Sam. Farsi. What the hell did that mean? What would an Iranian sharpshooter be doing in the Lolo National Forest? How did soldiers from a foreign country make entry into the United States with the weapons they had?