by Billi Jean
Torque whipped his head around to see her bending gracefully at the waist to dodge a blow by one of the hulking giants. She moved like a dancer, hell, why not, she was dressed like a ballerina. A quick snap of her fist to the slaver’s jaw made her shake her hand and wince, but he noted there’d been power behind her punch. She struck again and this time the guy’s head jerked to the side.
Why wasn’t she using that power she had stored up? Or the sword?
Half-giants weren’t the quickest of the bunch, but they were the most stubborn. This one turned back to her, its meaty hands clenched into fists at its sides.
“You shouldna had dun tha’, you shouldna had.”
Her eyes widened and he got the sense she found the giant’s slow, mumbling speech hilarious. A second later, she knocked the guy in the head with her sword hilt and tangled his massive feet up with a strike to his shins with her bare foot. She jumped back grinning when he fell with a loud thump.
“Seriously? How about that? Should I had done tha’?”
Her imitation of the giant was amusing, but still she could get herself killed, or worse. Half the crowds roared in laughter while the other half—most likely, the ones that had come for a slave—sized her up for their next meal.
The giant managed to get halfway up to his knees but she booted his ass with her foot and rapped two new players in the head successively with the flat of her blade without even pausing.
When he moved closer, he spotted blood on her side and another bright patch of red on her forehead as her hair spun away from her face in her turn. Had someone attacked her and brought her here?
“Yep, young witch. Not using much of her skills though,” Jaxon observed. “But she’s got a good right hook, huh? And her sword skill is pretty hot too even if she’s holding back.”
Torque levelled a glare at Jaxon. “Come on.” He didn’t bother waiting on a reply, but turned and shoved his way through the thong now circling her. Maybe she’d hurt herself? Maybe someone had attacked her? She sounded fine, but his unease grew by the second. He never came to the rescue. Witches had to handle themselves. Coddling them would get them killed. He knew that. He never came to the rescue.
I’m talking to myself. Shit, what is wrong with me?
He elbowed a big, broad-shouldered guy out of his way and deflected a punch, threw one himself that connected with a crunching sound and spotted her again. Not one ounce of him was going to let her handle this by herself. He didn’t analyse that assertion any further. Instead, he bulldozed through the melee.
“Halt. Stop at once. Slaving is forbidden by order of the High Council. You know—”
A big meaty fist whooshed over his head, narrowly missing him. At the same time, the blonde witch twisted a look over her shoulder at him in surprise. The slaver stood up from behind her and suddenly she lost her footing and toppled in slow motion off the table.
He was less than ten feet away, but still unable to stop her fall. She hit the cobblestones hard, probably knocking the wind out of her, but the dull sound of her head hitting had his anger, close to the surface, bursting along his senses. He settled on his knees next to her, his heart pounding and his senses reeling. Her warm and sweet scent settled over him and something worse than rage happened. His dick grew heavy and hard.
Too shocked to move, he watched her, and silently fought off the demands of his body. She half hunched forward from where she’d fallen on her back and reached up with both hands to grip her skull.
“Shit,” he heard her groan softly, but before he could get his ass moving enough to pull her into his arms, she sat up more and turned a look of accusation at him. “What did you do that for?”
“I thought I was helping with the slavers,” he said. He watched her rub her head, quickly scanning the area.
“Well, next time, see if I need it,” she snapped, then grimaced. “Sorry, that wasn’t very nice, but look, the slavers aren’t the issue here—”
Jaxon appeared at his elbow. “Game on, old man, the Death Stalkers just hit the gate.”
“What? Are you certain?” he demanded.
“Yes, they’re here,” the young witch said. She got up and he felt the draw of power from her grow enormous. “Game on? Sounds good to me.”
A second later the deep toll of alarms sounded. If there’d been chaos before, now there was complete mayhem. Sharp yells erupted along with the call to arms. The milling crowds took on a combat feel. No immortal willingly went to the Death Stalkers, but plenty of them had had family taken by the death dealers.
Behind him, Jaxon drew his sword. Eyes still on the blonde witch, Torque struggled to gain control of his senses. Jaxon moved as if to leave and he reached out, catching his forearm to drag the vampire back to face him. Their eyes met and he hauled Jaxon closer by his leather jacket. “Get her to safety.”
Brows down, Jaxon paused for only a second before nodding. “Got it, man, but what—?”
“Oh, hell no. Who do you think you are? I fight. Believe me, you do not want to get in my way,” she said.
Jaxon barked a laugh and smacked him on the back. “Good one, but you might want to watch it. Torque here is still in the Dark Ages when it comes to women and equal rights to kicking Death Stalker butt.”
Torque shot Jaxon a look of warning he ignored. The beauty next to him snorted and he met her curious expression feeling more like a fool than he’d ever felt in his life.
“Really?” She dragged that one word out with a tilt of her head. The next second she spun and turned to the right, sword up and her body tense.
Torque growled a curse under his breath and drew his own sword with a whispered spell just as the area above the stalls filled with the black forms of a Death Stalkers.
The woman next to him shot the first one down with an evil spell that killed the intended victim instantly. She didn’t hold back but directed another spell at the mage who anchored the other Death Stalkers in a V-formation. They looked like a hovering flock of crows. The mage caught her spell with a laugh. Torque jerked himself in front of her as the spell rebounded. Behind him, she knocked him in the inside of his right knee, forcing him to stumble to the side.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded but simply stood there as she caught the rebounded spell, did something to it and using the mage’s outstretched arm—indicating he still cast his spell—she shoved his magic back at him.
The mage fell to the ground on his knees with a blood-curdling scream, his arm clutched to his chest. Jax shifted and reappeared behind him, raised his sword and severed the mage’s head. Beside him, the witch sent a blue flame directly at the body and Torque watched what was left of the mage go up in her witch’s flame.
“Sonofabitch.” He thought he’d gone overboard in his spells. The blonde beauty held nothing back. There was no hesitation like with her earlier fights with the giants.
Five more Death Stalkers took the place of the fallen. The crowds had dwindled down to only other fighters. He wove a spell and circled the five, drawing his weave tight and not allowing them to move out of his binding. From the side he spotted the witch jump up on her table again and tossed her hair off her face. She faced two more of the dark enemy trying to circle her with an aerial manoeuvre. One of the hooded death dealers moved in closer, saying something that she responded to with a snake spell meant to bite the throat of her opponent. It missed and he lost his already spotty concentration.
His spell broke. The Death Stalkers who’d been struggling for breath, all jumped into action against the immortals circling them. Torque took one out with a killing dart of glowing green poison. The dart struck one in the chest and burrowed deep before exploding, sending parts of him in all directions. Not very neat and clean, but effective. He dodged and responded to a sword stroke by a massive cloaked and hooded giant of a male, narrowly missing the guy’s throat. He used the momentum though to kick his feet out from under him and stab downward, severing his head from his neck.
By the
time he freed his sword from the ground, the witch was engaged with another death dealer—this time in a hand to hand match that chilled him until he realised she must be using a strength spell. Her attack was perfectly balanced, powerful, and each of her quick sword strokes landed true.
Behind her and to the right he spotted another Death Stalker closing in on her with his sword raised, intending to take her head. Torque felt like his heart stopped in his chest, freezing him in panic until he could manage to yell a warning.
His shout startled her and she stumbled on the uneven ground, narrowly ducking under her enemy’s sword stroke. She backed up to give herself room and speared him with a scowl that he knew meant he’d fucked up. But as he watched, the one circling her moved in fast and brought the hilt of his sword down, hitting her in the temple.
For a second he thought she’d shake it off, but the first hit to the head then this one proved too much. He reached her just as she toppled to the side. Jaxon hit the guy with a killer blow and whipped around to end the other as well. Torque didn’t pay more attention to the fight than to take in it was almost over. Panic surged up his throat, strangling him.
Heart pounding like crazy, he clutched her tight and focused on her face. He bent his head to place his ear near her mouth and felt her breathing normally. The panic strangling him eased. He raised his head and sought out Jaxon. Their gazes clashed and Jaxon frowned, but took the time to nod and salute him with a sarcastic lift of his fingers to his brow.
For the first time in his existence, Torque left the battle. Only he didn’t care. He never came to the rescue, but this tiny, beautiful witch was more important to him than winning the battle. The Death Stalkers could wait. This, in his arms, couldn’t.
Chapter Two
A dark curtain fluttered, blocking images from forming as consciousness slipped away. Something oddly ethereal-like, but vivid against a backdrop of horror. A wall hanging? A…tapestry?
A face, masculine and sharp, shot through the dream. Brilliant grey eyes in a fierce face framed with black short hair stirred with a breeze she couldn’t feel. A sword flashed in his fist and he yelled something soundlessly but set her heart to racing.
Danger. Danger lurked everywhere and he stood in front of it, holding it at bay. For her? For him? She didn’t know.
The warrior was gone as quickly as he appeared, leaving her to float on the wisps of clouds or twist of smoke. Smoke? Where had she seen such tenuous mists of grey before? Why did that question cause her fear?
Her arm hurt. Slowly, a little worried what it would feel like to wake up fully, she cracked her eyes open, seeing only a dimly lit, unfamiliar room. She reached out and encountered a soft mattress. She was sleeping on her side, her arm crushed beneath her. Nothing felt right. Everything about her felt…wrong. Where was she? Worse, why didn’t she know where she should be? She should know…she should want to…to do stuff.
A sharp pain suddenly coursed through her skull. Groaning, she rolled over to her back. Her head pounded louder than her poor sleeping arm.
“Are you awake?”
The male voice with a slight British accent shot her upright and half off the bed. Too late, she comprehended what a silly move like that would do to her aching body. Bile rose in her throat and she clutched her forehead with both hands trying to keep the throbbing ache to a minimum.
“Damn, sorry, beauty, I shouldn’t have startled you. Can I see your forehead? I might be able to make that a bit better.”
Softly spoken, the words still vibrated in her skull making the pain so bad she had to dig her fingers in her hair and tug to try to force herself not to gag. Slowly she managed to gain some control and very cautiously peered over to see the man from her visions. Dreams. A prickle of unease grew into a painful spark.
“Beauty?” she asked, but her whisper sounded more like a croak. Silently, she shifted farther away from him. If she could just get her head feeling better, she could make for the door she spotted behind him.
The stranger shifted back in his seat, and drew her attention back to him. He looked uncomfortable before he shrugged a big shoulder. “I didn’t know your name, it seemed to fit.”
The way he said that, as if there was no question in his mind that she was stunning, made her feel slightly better. Odd, but heck, in a day that seemed to be getting odder, a compliment was nice. First, though, she had some questions, like where was she and why was he here, and why did her head hurt. And who he was and was he responsible for her headache?
“Who are you?” she asked.
At the same time, he said, “Do you have another name?”
Name. Of course, I have a name. Sure…
A chill brought a rash of goose bumps along her arms. She felt like her world suddenly stopped. She stared over at him, watching the dawning understanding that she didn’t know settle over him. His black hair was kinda pushed back from his high forehead, clearing the way for her to examine his handsome, now concerned, features.
“I…” She what? “I can’t quite answer that one.”
He grimaced. “Here, maybe if you drink this, you’ll feel better and then maybe you’ll remember something. A blow to the head like you took—”
“I had a blow to the head? What do you mean? Someone hit me? Why?”
She ignored the ceramic cup he tried to hand to her and focused on his strong features. Nothing about him caused her alarm, which now she thought about it, was disturbing. He simply seemed worried. His face was roughly handsome, she thought. Strong. He had a bruise along his unshaven jaw and a scar on his chin, a semi-straight nose, and another nick sliced through one of his dark eyebrows. He looked tough, but for now, possibly for her, he seemed…safe. His looks should be a concern though, right? Maybe he had hurt her. She denied that quickly. Nothing about him suggested such a thing. Why would she think that?
He watched her silently, but she could tell he was being cautious, as if…he worried over her.
“Were you there? Were we in a fight?” A battle? A rush of adrenaline choked her. Did she know how to fight? She glanced down, away from his mesmerising eyes to her arms. There are no scars on my arms.
“A bit.” He grimaced again, cocked his head to the side, and said, “You were harmed. Don’t you remember anything?”
Her attention rose back to him. “I didn’t fight?” Now why would she ask that? She rubbed her arms, pushing against that odd blackness in her mind. Why did it sound strange not to? Her hands were clear of scars, her fingers were slender and long, but on the smallish side. Could she defend herself? She made a fist and snorted.
“Yes, you were trying, but…” He paused and that more than anything drew her attention back into focus on the here and now. He’d moved so he hunched over his legs, both elbows on his knees, simply watching her with a carefully neutral expression. His biceps bulged under the fabric of his shirt when he brought one hand up to rub along his jaw. He had strong, capable fists that looked intimidating, not laughable, like hers. “We were outnumbered—”
“Outnumbered?” she asked.
He twisted his lips into a smirk and tilted his head.
She’d interrupted him now a few times, she realised. Still, the sexy look he gave her hit right in the chest with a slow, warm tingle down to other areas of her body. Emotions she didn’t understand fluttered around in a confusing bunch. A lump caught in her throat and for a terrifying moment, she wanted to hug him close, have him hold her tightly and tell her everything was going to be okay.
“I found you on top of a table, fighting off giants.”
The censure in his tone startled her. Slowly, as if he worried over touching her, he reached out and lifted her hand to give her the drink. The contact sent a shiver through her. His fingers were warm and calloused with a rough quality she knew would feel exquisite on other parts of her body.
“You were doing a pretty good job all the same. You knocked one down with a frying pan. But, here, drink this, then we’ll talk.”
; He spoke as if she’d do exactly what he said. Instead, she looked down into the cup and wrinkled her nose at the yellow drink. It smelt horribly sweet. Her hand shook a little, but she gripped it tighter, not wanting to appear frail. Above anything else right now she didn’t want this man to think her weak. She already sensed he thought her incapable of protecting herself.
Aren’t I? Fighting with a frying pan?
She broke eye contact with him again to stare down at the bedding. There were no scars on her arms.
Now why do I think there should be? Did I have scars?
She glanced back up and found him watching her curiously, as if she’d done something odd.
“What?”
He nodded to the drink. “Drink it, it will help.”
“Who are you? Where am I?” She went to set the cup down on the side table and he halted her with a firm grip on her wrist. Not painful, but he made it clear he wanted her obedience.
“You’re in a safe place. I’m Torque.” He let her go and sat back slowly, as if he might frighten her if he moved too fast.
She rubbed her wrist where he’d held her and his silver eyes flickered to it before he went on to say, “I belong to the Immortal Council. I’m not going to hurt you, but you need to drink that. It will—”
She shook her head, and he had the good sense to stop trying.
“Yeah, it will help. Got that, but listen, here’s the deal. I…” She paused when he jerked back—just a little—because clearly, she’d surprised him. He did think her weak. Her face felt like it flamed. She wasn’t weak. She was strong.
Right?
She blinked rapidly. They’d been simply sitting there, staring at each other. She could feel his confusion. Emotions, she could sense them. What was that talent called?
“I’m an empath.”
He stiffened. Did he fear she was sensing his emotions now?
