Hero Rising
Anna Alexander
Book five in the Heroes of Saturn series
Ari Rayner’s fresh start in the city is put on hold when her car breaks down on a mountain pass. Her savior is a hooded angel with haunted eyes who gives new meaning to the words “smoldering intensity”. Drawn to his strength, she revels in helping him succumb to his illicit fantasies. Just because she’s a woman doesn’t mean she’s afraid to get down and dirty.
Bale made a deathbed promise to protect those who cannot protect themselves, a vow he’s done a damn fine job of upholding, but the fire burning within Ari beckons him to play in the flames, and the heat they generate brings the house down. But such brilliance sheds light on past mistakes that Bale must now answer for. With his true nature revealed, Ari uses everything at her disposal—whips, straps and a firm hand—to convince Bale he is not a monster and is worthy of her love.
Inside Scoop: Contains BDSM scenes.
A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Hero Rising
Anna Alexander
Dedication
Till min familj, för alltid. And for my sister Sarah. You know I love you more than my luggage.
Chapter One
If you’re supposed to make lemonade when life handed you lemons, what were you supposed to do when handed a sack of shit?
Ari Rayner slammed the door shut on her ’88 Toyota Corolla. “Well fuck you too,” she shouted at the car, then reopened the door and slammed it again. The thwack of metal on metal was slightly more satisfying than screaming at the hunk of junk.
A peek to her right and left confirmed she was all alone on a long stretch of a two-lane ribbon of road bordered by fir trees so tall and thick she figured they had to have been there for centuries. Trees didn’t grow so massive where she was from, and the terrain wasn’t as mountainous either. She was used to brown, rolly hills of farmland, not the steep slopes of the Cascade Mountains. The congested forest surrounding her was so dense she was barely able to see through the foliage to discern if she was close to any sort of civilization.
A fine mist of rain fell from above, not enough to form definitive drops, but coating the earth in a layer of wet and soggy. At least there was a sliver of daylight left. If one could call the endless expanse of slate-gray sky daylight. Once the sun set, it was going to get cold damn quick.
From her jacket pocket she withdrew her outdated cell phone and pressed the Power button. “Please, please, please,” she prayed, focusing all her energy on the cold black square in her chilly hands.
A light flickered across the screen. Find Power Source. Then zilch as the image zapped away.
“Nooo,” she groaned and rested her head against the door of the Corolla. If only the cigarette lighter hadn’t gone out a year ago, she could have made sure the battery was fully charged.
“If ifs and buts were candies and nuts, we’d all have a wonderful Christmas,” her grandmother used to say. In other words, suck it up, sweetie.
Torn between laughter and tears, she settled on both. Her shoulders shook as puffs of breath fogged the window and temporarily heated her damp cheeks.
She just had to take that detour off the main highway to visit that hole-in-the-wall drive-thru she’d seen featured on the food channel. Was it the cheeseburger’s fault the transmission she had hoped would last until she reached the city had finally blown? No. But it figured that would be the icing on the proverbial crap cake after enduring the month of hell. All she had wanted was a little treat. Just a small, tiny bit of goodness to kick off the start of a new beginning. What could be more harmless than sampling the best cheeseburger west of the Mississippi?
“Was it really too much to ask to have a little fun?” she wailed to the heavens. The answering clap of thunder as the rain gained density was a resounding yes. Apparently the powers that be felt she hadn’t been punished enough.
Fine. So be it. If she was meant to walk, it was time to march. Crying on the side of the road wasn’t going to do her a lick of good and wasted valuable daylight, or light-grayness, as was the case. On the bright side, she now had the opportunity to burn off the calories in that chocolate shake.
She reached into the backseat and retrieved a navy hooded sweatshirt, layering it under her denim jacket for another level of warmth. Wherever she ended up next, an umbrella was going to be at the top of her shopping list. She threw her purse in her overnight bag and slung it over her shoulder. The rest of her luggage would have to sit tight until she was able to have a tow truck sent out to retrieve her car. Ugh, a tow truck. Another expense she couldn’t afford and didn’t want to think about.
Shake it off. Shake it off. One emergency at a time. First priority, find a power outlet.
Twenty minutes later Ari slogged down the road with no hint of a building in sight. Rivulets of rain trickled down her neck and soaked the collar and shoulders of her jacket. The fabric of her black- and red-floral-print cotton dress stuck like papier-mâché around her thighs and strands of hair kept slapping her cheeks. It figured the only item she kept from her jerk-off ex-boyfriend were the kickass Jimmy Choo Dash biker boots and now they were being devoured by the mud and roadside sludge.
With each soggy step she cursed the day she met Anthony Martinelli. Excuse her, City Councilman Anthony Martinelli. The, unbeknownst to her at the time, very married public servant who she hoped at that very moment was getting a good nut-roasting by his wife. Lord knows the woman spewed enough hate in Ari’s direction in every newspaper in all of Jefferson County and most of St. Louis. Let her blow some brimstone in the direction of her adulterous hubby too.
How had she not known Anthony was a player? Was she really so bowled over by a nice suit and impeccable table manners that she completely missed the signs that he led a double life? She used to believe she was a good judge of character. As a bartender the ability to read people was an essential skill to possess. A gesture or tone of voice told her immediately who were the cool customers and who she needed to keep an eye on.
For example, she didn’t need to be a psychic to guess that the two guys climbing out of the truck that pulled off the road ahead of her were bad news. Slowing down while doing a drive-by to say a fine how-do-you-do was understandable, but both of them did not need to exit the vehicle.
Both men wore what she had noticed was the Northwest uniform of scruffy beards, flannel shirts and work boots. Seriously, hadn’t male fashion changed at all since the grunge-rock era? When the man on the right spat a stream of tobacco she cringed. Oh yeah. That was attractive. Excellent first impression.
Ari hooked her thumb under the strap of her bag, ready to ditch the extra weight at a moment’s notice, and calmly crossed the road to the other side and prayed. Please let them only be stopping for engine troubles and not notice she existed.
“Hey, girlie.”
Fuck. Well there went that wish.
One steady step after another, she walked on by without sparing them a single glance. The roller-coaster pitch in her stomach was enough to convince her she didn’t need or want anything to do with them.
Through the pitter-patter of rain, the tread of booted footsteps came up behind her. As they approached, she whirled around and braced her stance for either fight or flight. Better to see the devil coming at you instead of letting him take you by surprise.
“What?” she shouted, as if she didn’t have a suspicion.
“Whoa.” The spitter held up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you, little lady.”
Right. Her bullshit alarm clanged. She knew how to read between the lines. They weren’t going to hurt her, if she went along with their plans.
The spitter and Billy Bob Joe Willy weren’t large men, but they carried enou
gh bulk around their middles to make her think if they tackled her to the ground she’d be down for the count.
As her gaze flicked from one to the other, she noted that their eyes appeared clear of drink, but drunk with lust as they inched closer.
A good girl, a desperate girl, might have been tempted to give them the benefit of the doubt. Just because she was a woman didn’t mean they wanted to nail her like a two-by-four. But she was not an angel and not nearly that desperate.
She’d been called pretty in the past, but she knew the only thing that inspired such a look of desire in a man was the fact she had a vagina and was handy. And at the moment, she was all alone. A neon sign flashing “victim” might as well be hanging over her head. The female population of their logging camp or fishing boat, or wherever the hell they were from, must be low for them to think she was a tasty treat. Hey, she was from the Midwest, what did she know about mountain men and their proclivities?
Billy Bob Joe Willy took a step closer. She countered with one back. From the corner of her eye, she gauged the distance to the tree line.
“Easy, girl,” he drawled. “Was that your sedan back there on the road?”
She lowered her head and gave him the fuck-off stare she used on grabby customers.
“A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be walking in the rain. Where’ya heading?”
With one eye on the spitter and the other on BBJW, she countered their every step.
“Kitty cat got your tongue?” The spitter chortled and wiped at his mouth. A fine trail of chaw remained on his hand.
“I don’t talk to strangers.”
“Well then let us give you a lift. We can become friends on the way.”
“No thanks. I’m good.”
His smile turned icy. “Get in the truck.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t clear. Fuck off.”
The smile disappeared altogether. “Fuck is right. Get her.”
Well hell.
Her bag hit the ground with a wet thunk as she turned and raced down the road. She ditched the idea of trying to hide in the woods. If they attacked her, she wanted to be out on the open road where it was more likely someone would see them. God, let someone else see her. Like a family. With teenagers. And a big burly husband.
The rain-cloaked air burned her fast-moving lungs and in her mind she chanted, Big dogs. Big dogs. Big dogs just like when she was a kid playing softball and trying to reach base. Of course, she was eight then and her running skills hadn’t improved much since.
A tug at her hair almost brought her to her knees, but she kept going, pumping her legs like the Little Engine That Could. The unseen fingers grabbed for her shoulders and yanked on her jacket. She fought out of the sleeves, slapping at whoever was behind her in a last-ditch effort to trip up the impending attackers.
Her brain sent the signals to her limbs to stop fighting. What was the use? She was toast. But her heart shouted “fuck that”, so she dug deeper. If she was going down, she’d do so with blood under her nails and a throat raw from screaming.
One of the losers whooped with triumph as burly arms wrapped around her middle. Down they fell, both fast and in slow motion as the world ground to a halt around her. Fire raced up her legs as her knees hit the ground first and asphalt rushed toward her face. Imaginary pain exploded in her head in preparation for impact.
The hit, when it came, was nothing like she expected. Yeah, it hurt like hell, but where was the harsh scrape of concrete against her skin? Where was the crushing weight of her assailant on her back? All she felt was a lumpy hardness underneath her cheek.
She’d died. Holy shit. The blow to the head was so severe it killed her!
No. No, no, no. This could not be the end. Her eyes flew open and she tensed, ready to battle whatever god had decided this was to be her fate.
What the hell?
Her vision blurred like the lens of a camera trying to focus until the image settled and revealed a long length of arm stretching out before her. Up the black-denim-covered appendage her gaze traveled to a set of mile-wide shoulders that blocked out the sky. A black hood covered the stranger’s head, leaving only the chiseled, whiskered chin and a firm set of lips exposed to the elements.
Her gaze flickered about, struggling to comprehend that it was his hand she felt under her cheek. How did this man manage to slip his hand under her head before she crashed to the pavement? Even more mind-boggling was that in his other hand he had Billy Bob suspended above her by the back of his jacket.
The stranger gently lowered her head to the ground then stood, lifting Billy Bob higher until his feet dangled in the air.
“Hey, man,” the spitter shouted. “Put him down.”
Despite the haze clouding her mind, she had to laugh at the ridiculousness of the command. This man was a grade-A badass. No one was gonna make him do anything he didn’t want to.
Apparently the spitter had missed body language lessons as a child for he rushed the giant, who rounded about with a kick, connecting solidly to the stupid man’s ribs. The crack of bone made the bile rise in her throat, even as she silently cheered. The spitter sailed through the air then landed in a heap in the gutter.
Holy shit! Was he dead?
Billy Bob was hauled within millimeters of the newcomer’s hood.
“Shall I grant you the same courtesy you were showing the lady? Shall I?” he shouted in voice so deep, her throat ached in sympathy. “Who will mourn you when I kill you?”
Ari’s jaw dropped at the cold, sinisterly rasped question. Not for a second did she believe the threat was said in jest.
Billy Bob sputtered as he hung limp in the man’s hands. All color left his cheeks as he stared death in the face. “M-my daughter.”
His lips curled as he snarled, “She deserves better. I’d be doing her a favor gutting you now. Or maybe I should find her. Tackle her to the ground and violate her like you planned to do to this girl? Have you allowed that cretin to harm your young?” He indicated the limp body of the spitter with a nod.
“N-no. No.” Water droplets sprayed all over as he shook his head.
“When I put you down, you are going to run back to your vehicle and leave immediately. From this moment forth you will treat all women as if they are royalty, or I will hunt you down and end you. Understand?”
More frantic nodding and over the damp rain, Ari scented the antiseptic stench of urine as Billy Bob pissed his pants.
The man lowered Billy Bob to his feet but kept one hand on his shirt. “To remind you of your promise.”
The snick of a switchblade reached her ears a millisecond before Billy Bob screamed and clutched his face. Blood gushed from between his fingers, mixing with the rain to drip onto the road.
What had she missed? One second his face was fine, then bam! His skin was flayed open like the back of a fish from ear to lip. Had the hooded man moved that fast?
Fear constricted her throat like a cheap scarf as she watched the stranger calmly wipe the blade clean on his jean-covered thigh. Who was this guy?
Billy Bob took off, leaving his compadre facedown in the muck. Great friend. The stranger picked up the spitter by the back of the shirt, and to her slight relief, the creep moaned at the movement. As Billy Bob sailed past them his friend was tossed into the flatbed like a bag of trash.
Once the roar of the big block engine faded into the distance, cold set into her bones. Her teeth chattered, the sound louder than the patter of rain hitting the asphalt.
Stand up! Run! This man is a total badass. Why are you just sitting here?
Yes, brain. Running was probably an excellent idea. If only her limbs would fucking move.
Her shaking grew worse as the man turned and stalked in her direction.
“Stay back,” she managed to mutter, because obviously, he was going to do what she said.
Despite the ridiculousness of her command, he froze mid-step then lowered his foot one slow inch at a time.
“
I mean you no harm,” he rasped, holding out his hands to show her they were empty before reaching for his hood and drawing it off his face.
Hello, handsome.
Oh. My. God. Ari bit her tongue to keep it from falling out of her mouth as she stared up at a face Hollywood casting agents would bet millions on. He wasn’t pretty, not by any stretch, but definitely a man’s man. Square jaw, high cheekbones, a slightly cricked nose as if it had been broken once, or many times before. Big surprise there. Not. The rain hid the true length of his black hair, which she’d describe to the police if the need arose as overgrown, but his bangs were long, hanging down to frame the intensity of his dark eyes.
Okay, just because the man was freakishly gorgeous did not mean she was out of danger. She had no doubt he possessed the power and will to fuck her up, if he wanted to.
“Can you stand?” he asked in an accent that heated her from the inside even as chills made her tremble. “Your knees appear badly injured. Are you hurt elsewhere?”
She shook her head. Where was he from? Somewhere in Europe maybe. Not Latino. German, maybe Scandinavian? Yeah, when Ari was a kid, her mother loved a rock band from Norway and this guy looked a lot like the lead singer. Only darker and a helluva lot more dangerous.
“Are you certain? You’re bleeding quite profusely from the head. Your hair is all bloody.”
“What?” she shrieked and felt around her scalp. Nothing on her head hurt or was sore as if she’d been cut.
She pulled her hands free, but only rain covered her skin. “I’m not bleeding.”
His brow furrowed. “But your hair is bloodied.”
“Oh.” She held up a sodden lock. “That’s just the color. I guess it does look a little like blood. But I’m okay. Relatively speaking.”
His brows rose and mouth fell open as if he were stunned. “It’s a most unusual color. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
For some reason the wonder in his tone made her want to smile.
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