Darkness Reborn (Order of the Blade #5)

by Rowe, Stephanie

  “No.” A deep ache pounded at Kaylie’s chest and her legs felt like they were too weak to support her. “I can’t. Did you see Sara? And Jackson? His throat—” She bent over, clutching her stomach. “I—”

  Cort’s arms were suddenly around her, warm and strong, pulling her against his solid body. Kaylie fell into him, the sobs coming hard, the memories—

  “I know.” Cort’s whisper was soft, his hand in her hair, crushing her against him. “It sucks. Goddamn, it sucks.”

  Kaylie heard his grief in the raw tone of his voice and realized his body was shaking as well. She looked up and saw a rim of red around his eyes, shadows in the hollows of his whiskered cheeks. “You know,” she whispered, knowing with absolute certainty that he did. He understood the grief consuming her.

  “Yeah.” He cupped her face, staring down at her, his grip so tight it was almost as desperate as she felt. She could feel his heart beating against her nearly bare breasts, the rise of his chest as he breathed, the heat of his body warming the deathly chill from hers.

  For the first time in forever, she suddenly didn’t feel quite as alone.

  In her suffering, she had company. Someone who knew. Who understood. Who shared her pain. It had been so long since the dark cavern surrounding her heart had lessened, since she hadn’t felt consumed by the loneliness, but with Cort holding her…there was a flicker of light in the darkness trying to take her. “Cort—”

  He cleared his throat. “I gotta go check the chili.” He dropped his hands from her face and stood up to go, pulling away from her.

  Without his touch, the air felt cold and the anguish returned full force. Kaylie caught his arm. “Don’t go—” She stopped, not sure what to say, what to ask for. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to leave, and she didn’t want him to stop holding her.

  Cort turned back to her, and a muscle ticked in his cheek.

  For a moment, they simply stared at each other. She raised her arms. “Hold me,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He hesitated for a second, and then his hand snaked out and he shackled her wrist. He yanked once, and she tumbled into him. Their bodies smacked hard as he caught her around the waist, his hands hot on her bare back.

  She threw her arms around his neck and sagged into him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. With only her bra and his T-shirt between them, the heat of his body was like a furnace, numbing her pain. His name slipped out in a whisper, and she pressed her cheek against his chest. She focused on his masculine scent. She took solace in the feel of another human’s touch, in the safety of being held in arms powerful enough to ward off the grief trying to overtake her.

  His hand tunneled in her hair, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his body shaking against hers.

  “Cort—” She started to lift her head to look at him, to see if he was crying, but he tightened his grip on her head, forcing her face back to his chest, refusing to allow her to look at him.

  Keeping her out.

  Isolating her.

  She realized he wasn’t a partner in her grief. She was alone, still alone, always alone.

  All the anguish came cascading back. Raw loneliness surged again, and she shoved away from him as sobs tore at her throat. She couldn’t deal with being held by him when the sense of intimacy was nothing but an illusion. “Leave me alone.”

  Kaylie whirled away from him, keeping her head ducked. She didn’t want to look at him. She needed space to find her equilibrium again and rebuild her foundation.

  “Damn it, Kaylie.” Cort grabbed her arm and spun her back toward him.

  She held up her hands to block him, her vision blurred by the tears streaming down her face. “Don’t—”

  His arms snapped around her and he hauled her against him even as she fought his grip. “No! Leave me alone—”

  His mouth descended on hers.

  Not a gentle kiss.

  A kiss of desperation and grief and need. Of the need to control something. Of raw human passion for life, for death, for the touch of another human being.

  And it broke her.

  Sneak Peek: KISS AT YOUR OWN RISK

  (The Soulfire Series, Book One)

  (Humorous Paranormal Romance, Available Now)

  “Let’s get it done.” Blaine grabbed her arm and began to propel her down the sidewalk.

  “My car is the other direction—”

  “We’ll take mine.” He nodded ahead, and Trinity saw a large, black motorcycle parked up beside the curb.

  She stopped. “I can’t ride on that.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “It’s…dangerous.” It was the best word she could think of. She didn’t take risks right now. She kept all emotions tucked deep away inside, held tight like steel netting was wrapped around her. The motorcycle…too wild. Too adventurous. Too passionate. Too everything she didn’t dare to be.

  “Been riding for over a century. I’m good.” He strode toward it, not bothering to wait for her. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  “No.” She was already walking toward it. She had to touch it. To feel what that kind of freedom felt like. She laid her hand on the seat. The leather was soft, but it felt tough at the same time. The chrome was gleaming. The wheels were immaculate. It was the ultimate expression of daring to take on life, of refusing to go gently, of feeling the passion and fire burn through her until she wanted to explode. Of embracing risk and danger.

  It was everything she couldn’t afford.

  Not in this moment. Not with the spider edging so close to the line.

  Right now, she needed to keep a stranglehold on her emotions. It was about self-control. It was about showing she could manage the cravings and desire burning inside her. It was about driving her Subaru below the speed limit while wearing her seatbelt.

  Blaine swung his leg over the seat, straddling the huge machine like he owned its soul. Like it was a demon he controlled by his mere presence. “Just got it. Nice, huh?”

  “I can’t ride that.”

  “You’re my ticket to freeing Christian.” He held out his hand to her. “Trust me, I’ll protect you. No chance you’re getting hurt with me around.”

  “It’s not that.” She clasped her hands behind her back, against the urge to climb on there with him. She could almost feel the wind blowing through her hair, that sense of being utterly free in a way she never had been. Ever.

  He turned the key, then punched the ignition button. The engine roared to life, so loud it drowned out the thoughts in her head. It thundered in her chest, made her body vibrate, reducing her to nothing but a physical, visceral reaction to the power and freedom it offered.

  He didn’t bother with a helmet. He didn’t bother to shout above the din. He just jerked his chin at her and revved the bike with a twist of the right handlebar.

  She saw the determination in his eyes. He was man who wasn’t going to lose his race for Christian’s life.

  He wasn’t even considering it. He’d do whatever it took, and he’d succeed.

  She wanted to be like that. She wanted to be so sure, so confident, so certain in who she was and what she wanted that she never doubted herself again, never feared the monster within. She wanted to wake up in the morning with that same expression that Blaine was wearing. The one that knew, without a doubt, that she could have anything and everything she wanted.

  Maybe she’d been going about it the wrong way. Maybe fighting her passions had been a misguided approach. Maybe the right choice was to embrace her inner fire and let it shine.

  Blaine grinned, a smug look that told her that he knew she’d changed her mind.

  Even as she started toward the bike, even as she slid her leg over the seat behind Blaine, even as she wrapped her arms around his muscled waist, she knew was using the logic as an excuse to get on and feel that fire, a choice she knew in her gut was the wrong one, the dangerous one, the choice of an addict unable to ditch the high.


  Blaine let the engine idle, and it subsided to a quiet roar. He pointed to pegs poking out of the bike near her feet. “Rule number one. Your feet never, ever come off those pegs unless I tell you. Not even when I stop. Your feet get in my way, and we could crash, or you could burn your leg off.”

  Her heart started to race, but she put her feet on the rods. What was she doing, riding this bike? This wasn’t her. But it was too tempting. She wanted to live, just once. How could a bike ride trigger her into going crazy and becoming a murderer?

  By stripping her of what little self-control she had left, that’s how. What if she liked the high too much? What if she wanted it again? What if—

  He twisted around so he could look at her. “Second rule: you tuck up against me and let your body fall in with mine. When I lean into the corners, you relax and go with me. Got it?”

  Oh, man, she so couldn’t do this. Release all resistance and let the world take her? “I—”

  “If you need to stop, tap my side with your left hand. Other than that, just keep your feet on the pegs and let your body move with mine and the g-forces of the bike, and you’re good.” He grabbed her knees and crushed her thighs against the outsides of his.

  Heat began to throb through her inner legs. An awareness of his strength. Of the intimate feel of his body between her thighs.

  He flipped a grin at her over his shoulder. “The name of the game is submission, Trinity.”

  She stiffened. Submission was a dirty word in her vocabulary. Submission meant giving into the curse.

  “Surrender yourself to the bike and to me.”

  “I can’t surrender to anything—”

  He revved the engine with a flick of his right wrist, drowning out her protest. She frantically hit him on his left side to tell him to stop, but all he did was raise one eyebrow at her. Then he ditched the kickstand and the bike began to roll.

  She lunged to get a grip around his waist, hugging desperately with all her strength. What had she been thinking—

  She suddenly became aware of a deep vibration echoing up from the bike, like the pulsing of a bass drum throbbing in her core, down her legs, in her belly, along her thighs where she was pressed so tightly around Blaine.

  And then the bike lurched forward with a squeal of tires. She tightened her grip around his waist, and then she felt the earth move beneath her. As the bike roared down the street, the cold wind whipped at her face, yanked at her hair, and her whole body shook with the vibration of a thousand pounds of force, she felt her soul come to life in a way she never had before.

  She raised her face to the sky, felt the sun fighting to warm her against the wind’s coldness, felt the heat of Blaine’s body between her thighs. He turned a corner and they leaned as one with the bike.

  She looked down as her right knee skimmed just above the pavement. They were going so fast, the ground was nothing but a gray blur, rushing past. Another inch closer and her kneecap would turn into a Frisbee. So close to utter destruction, dancing on the edge—

  He straightened the bike and they moved upright again. Away from danger. She’d threaded the edge, but she’d never really been at risk. She could feel Blaine’s complete control of the machine of the power beneath them. One wrong move and the bike could be an instrument of carnage and lost dreams. But in Blaine’s grasp, it was a tool of pure, unadulterated freedom.

  To be able to control death so easily? To turn it from hell into joy? Tears filled her eyes as she pressed her cheek to Blaine’s back. The heat from his body pressed at her inner thighs, burning through her jeans. Her hair knifed at her cheeks, her shirt flapped ruthlessly, as if the fabric wanted to rip free from her body, to fly through the air. She hugged tighter, suddenly afraid.

  Blaine tapped her wrist and held his right arm up to the sky, like he was reaching for the sun. “You can let go,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Try it!”

  She shook her head and held tighter.

  She felt the laughter rumble in his chest, and then he leaned over the handle bars and the bike leaped forward, as if he’d unleashed a wild cat from a cage. She felt his muscles flex, felt a sudden energy pulse through his body, like sparks were jumping from his skin onto hers, and then he whipped the bike onto the highway, and let it all out.

  And all she could do was hang on.

  Sneak Peek: DARKNESS AWAKENED

  (The Order of the Blade: Primal Heat Trilogy, Book One)

  (Dark & Sexy Paranormal Romance, Available Now)

  Quinn Masters raced soundlessly through the thick woods, his injuries long forgotten, urgency coursing through him as he neared his house. He covered the last thirty yards, leapt over a fallen tree, then reached the edge of the clearing by his cabin.

  There she was.

  He stopped dead, fading back into the trees as he stared at the woman he’d scented when he was still two hours away, a lure that had eviscerated all weakness from his body and fueled him into a dead sprint back to his house.

  His lungs heaving with the effort of pushing his severely damaged body so hard, Quinn stood rigidly as he studied the woman whose scent had called to him through the dark night. She’d yanked him out of his thoughts about Elijah and galvanized him with energy he hadn’t been able to summon on his own.

  And now he’d found her.

  She’d wedged herself up against the back corner of his porch, barely protected from the cold rain and wet wind. Her knees were pulled up against her chest, her delicate arms wrapped tightly around them as if she could hold onto her body heat by sheer force of will. Her shoulders were hunched, her forehead pressed against her knees while damp tangles of dark brown hair tumbled over her arms.

  Her chest moved once. Twice. A trembling, aching breath into lungs that were too cold and too exhausted to work as well as they should.

  He took a step toward her, and then another, three more before he realized what he was doing. He froze, suddenly aware of his urgent need to get to her. To help her. To fill her with heat and breathe safety into her trembling body. To whisk her off his porch and into his cabin.

  Into his bed.

  Quinn stiffened at the thought. Into his bed? Since when? He didn’t engage when it came to women. The risk was too high, for him, and for all Calydons. Any woman he met could be his mate, his fate, his doom. His sheva.

  He was never tempted.

  Until now.

  Until this cold, vulnerable stranger had appeared inexplicably on his doorstep. He should be pulling out his sword, not thinking that the fastest way to get her warm would be to run his hands over her bare skin and infuse her whole body with the heat from his.

  But his sword remained quiet. His instincts warned him of nothing.

  What the hell was going on? She had to be a threat. Nothing else made sense. Women didn’t stumble onto his home, and he didn’t get a hard-on from simply catching a whiff of one from miles away.

  His trembling quads braced against the cold air, he inhaled her scent again, searching for answers to a thousand questions. She smelled delicate, with a hint of something sweet, and a flavoring of the bitterness of true desperation. He could practically taste her anguish, a cold, acrid weight in the air, and he knew she was in trouble.

  His hands flexed with the need to close the distance between them, to crouch by her side, to give her his protection. But he didn’t move. He didn’t dare. He had to figure out why he was so compelled by her, why he was responding like this, especially at a time when he couldn’t afford any kind of a distraction.

  She moaned softly and curled into an even tighter ball. His muscles tightened, his entire soul burning with the need to help her. Quinn narrowed his eyes and pried his gaze off her to search the woods.

  With the life of his blood brother in his hands, with an Order posse soon to be after him, with his own body still recovering from Elijah’s assault, it made no sense that Quinn had even noticed the scent of this woman, let alone be consumed by her.

  His intense need for her felt too
similar to the compulsion that had sent him to the river three nights ago. Another trap? He’d suspected it from the moment he’d first reacted to her scent, but he’d been unable to resist the temptation, and he’d hauled ass to get back to his house. Yeah, true, he’d also needed to get back to his cabin to retrieve his supplies to go after Elijah. The fact she’d imbued him with new strength had been a bonus he wasn’t going to deny.

  But now he had to be sure. A trap or not? Quinn laughed softly. Shit. He hoped it was. If it wasn’t, there was only one other reason he could think of to explain his reaction to her, and that would be if she was his mate. His sheva. His ticket to certain destruction.

  No chance.

  He wouldn’t allow it.

  He had no time for dealing with that destiny right now. It was time to get in, get out, and go after Elijah. His amusement faded as he took a final survey of the woods. There was no lurking threat he could detect. Maybe he’d made it back before he’d been expected, or maybe an ambush had been aborted.

  Either way, he had to get into his house, get his stuff, and move on. His gaze returned to the woman, and he noticed a drop of water sliding down the side of her neck, trickling over her skin like the most seductive of caresses. He swore, realizing she wasn’t going to leave. She’d freeze to death before she’d abandon her perch.

  He cursed and knew he had to go to her. He couldn’t let her die on his front step. Not this woman. Not her.

  He would make it fast, he would make it efficient, he would stay on target for his mission, but he would get her safe.

  Keeping alert for any indication that this was a setup, Quinn stepped out of the woods and into the clearing. He’d made no sound, not even a whisper of his clothing, and yet she sensed him.

  She sat up, her gaze finding him instantly in the dim light, despite his stealthy approach. They made eye contact, and the world seemed to stop for a split second. The moment he saw those silvery eyes, something thumped in his chest. Something visceral and male howled inside him, raging to be set free.