The Darkest Warrior

by Gena Showalter

"I told you, I'm a vegetarian. I don't mind working for my food, as long as it's food I can eat."

  He narrowed his eyes. "You can eat the food I provide, you simply prefer not to. What you don't understand is this. You don't have to like the tasks I give you, but you still have to do them. You don't have to like the food I give you, but you still have to eat it."

  Up went her chin. "I'd rather starve to death."

  He offered his cruelest smile, a mere twisting of his lips. "That is no longer an option for you."

  "But--"

  "You'll do as you're told, or you'll suffer."

  Fear pulsed from her, and her teeth began to chatter. "You would hurt me?"

  "Yes." He would always do what he must to gain what he needed.

  She stumbled back, as if she'd been pushed. "I'll hate you."

  As Indifference grew louder, the invisible knife returned, twisting in Puck's gut once again. "As you've probably figured out, I won't be bothered in the least."

  Different emotions played in her eyes, fear giving way to anger, anger giving way to incredulity. She lifted her chin another notch. "Okay, we're done. I want to go home."

  Denial screamed inside his head. "I'm your home." For now.

  "I want to go to my old home."

  "No. You'll live in my realm."

  As white as morning fog, she grated, "Fine. Tonight I'll gather twigs and search for berries--"

  "Twigs are for fire, and there are no berries in this realm."

  "What do the rabbits eat, then?"

  "They aren't rabbits, lass."

  After absorbing his words, she pressed her hands against her midsection, as if she feared losing her last meal, whatever it had been. "Your situation has changed. Shouldn't you change your rules, too?"

  Her point...had merit. Also, forcing her to eat meat--and earning her hatred--could slow their journey home. She might fight him every step of the way. But lack of nourishment could slow them down, too.

  A compromise could save him a whole lot of trouble.

  Very well. Puck waved his fingers, beckoning her. Though she dragged her feet, she obeyed the summons without protest. And, when he patted the stone ledge, she sat without hesitation and crossed her legs.

  Silent, motions slow and careful, he removed her boots and socks. The sight of her delicate toes, with her nails painted baby blue, sent his heart thudding against his ribs. Temptation beckoned...and he caved, tracing a fingertip over the sweet little digits. Indifference roared.

  At the first brush of skin against skin, Gillian flinched.

  Cursing the males who had brought her to this point, he dipped her bare feet into the hot, bubbling water, and she gasped, surprised, before closing her eyes in delight.

  One day, he would see that look on her face for another reason entirely...

  Puck gnashed his teeth. "Why do you not eat meat? Meat makes you strong."

  Her eyelids fluttered apart, her gaze finding his. "When I was younger, my stepbrothers would whisper to me at the dinner table. If we had hamburgers, they asked how long I thought the cow had screamed before it died. If we had chicken, they asked if I imagined baby chicks crying for their momma."

  His poor, sweet Gillian. Abused physically, mentally and emotionally.

  Remain objective! Refuse to sympathize. "You are far more damaged than I realized." A statement of fact, without any hint of emotion. Good.

  "I know," she said, and heaved a full body sigh. "Maybe we could bargain? If you'll find me something to eat...besides animals...I'll do my best to make you feel an emotion, like happiness, or even sadness. That's why you bonded to me, after all. So I would help you feel something, anything."

  His lies were coming back to haunt him. He'd wanted to be a project for her, so she would have a reason to spend time with him. If she constantly tried to make him happy...

  He would weaken. Maybe. Maybe not.

  Why do I not feel you as strongly, fiend?

  There was no need to continue the deception. Besides, she'd already made him feel plenty. Pretending he'd felt nothing, so she would continue to try, would make him a liar.

  So? He'd been much worse.

  He should tell her the truth, and promise to punish her if she attempted to make him feel anything. Except...

  Despite the danger, he liked the idea of Gillian doing everything in her power to make him feel...satisfied. Yes. That.

  He would give anything--except his mission--to be "seduced" by his wife. First, he would have to edge her in that direction.

  "You'll do your best to make me feel, anyway," he said. This villain-pretending-to-be-a-romance-novel-hero will make his heroine work for it. "Bargain or no."

  Smug now, she flicked water droplets at him. "Is that something you can force me to do?"

  "No," he said, and plastered on a frown meant to intimidate her. She thought she had him by the balls.

  Soon, little wife. Soon.

  "Then a deal is the only way to guarantee my cooperation. So, if you want me to make you feel something, you'll feed me something other than meat. Oh! And you'll agree to take me home after I succeed. And you won't hurt William. Or Torin. Ever."

  He almost snapped, Do not speak the names of other males.

  Stiff now, he spread her legs and stepped between them. Quick as lightning, she placed her hands on his chest to push him away. He merely flattened his own atop hers and stayed put.

  He yearned to ease her fears of intimacy--soon, he reminded himself.

  "How will you make me feel an emotion?" he asked. An emotion he would never admit to feeling, forcing her to continue trying.

  "I--I'll tell you jokes," she said. "Or sad stories."

  Gaze hot on her, he said, "Others have tried to amuse me or make me sad and failed." Truth. Once, Cameron had been determined to force some kind of reaction from him. The attempt hadn't ended well for the keeper of Obsession, who suffered punishment whenever he failed to complete a "mission."

  "Were the others able to make you feel anything previously? Anything at all?"

  "No."

  Smug again, she said, "Then I have an advantage."

  "But I want to feel something other than amused, or sad."

  She gulped. "I don't... I can't..."

  "How else will you do it?" he asked. "Try to make me feel, I mean."

  Her breath turned ragged, every inhalation labored. "You'll just have to wait and see, I guess."

  "If you fail to amuse me or make me sad by the time we reach my homeland, will you try what I suggest?"

  As she shifted underneath his hands, debating her response, anticipation held him in a savage vise grip. She knew what he would request--desire.

  "Yes, I will." A croak. "If you'll feed me fruits and vegetables while we're together and return me to Budapest once I've made you feel...something."

  A bright but brief flare of triumph teased him, and he almost grinned. Though he wanted to linger near Gillian, he forced himself to release her and moved to the other side of the spring.

  "Very well, lass. You have a deal."

  13

  Day 3 of Marriage

  "It was a truth universally acknowledged that a married girl in possession of a dagger would eventually stab her husband," Gillian muttered, hurrying to keep up with Puck.

  Not too long ago, they'd entered a new realm. A dew-drenched rain forest with waterlogged swamplands and a dense undergrowth of vegetation, all tied together by a thick canopy of foliage overhead. Though pretty, the terrain proved unfriendly. Fire erupted along every body of water, spikes popped from tree trunks whenever she approached and leaves snapped at her with actual fangs.

  Each creature she encountered turned out to be a mix of two types of wildlife: a gorilla with the bottom half of a spider; a snake with hind legs; palm-size flies with scorpion stingers.

  Not once had Gillian screeched with shock or fear. A true miracle. She'd even managed to keep up with Puck without complaint, huffing and puffing. The only advantage? The scen
t of peat smoke and lavender remained strong in her nose.

  Oh, and she wasn't hungry anymore. At some point, he'd fed her a delicious meal of berries and plants. Good man...bad man... The jury was still out.

  Any time thoughts of William arose, she beat them back with an icy determination she'd never before possessed. Sadness would only slow her down. And if ever the sadness proved stronger than her determination, she focused on Puck; wariness mixed with fascination, overshadowing everything else.

  He was shirtless, his strength on spectacular display. A butterfly tattoo would appear on his back only to vanish, then reappear somewhere else. Once, when he'd pivoted to avoid a limb to the face, she'd caught sight of the butterfly on his chest. Sometimes, it even changed colors.

  Every Lord of the Underworld bore a similar mark. Or rather, all demon-possessed immortals did. Gillian had never found it sexy.

  I still don't. No way, no how. Except...

  Can't stop staring, my mouth watering.

  At least that odd roaring had stopped blasting through her head.

  Another image adorned Puck's chest: a cluster of flowers twined around an azure peacock with a long beak and two circles for feet. One of those circles snaked around his nipple while the other rested in the center of his sternum. Exquisite detailing made the bird look ready to fly out of his skin.

  He'd replaced his tattered loincloth with a pair of pants he'd made using the inside lining from the coats they'd found in ice hell. Quite resourceful, her Puck. And somehow more beautiful with every hour that passed.

  How hard were those horns? Was his dark skin as cold as his attitude, or as hot as fire? How soft was the fur on his legs?

  What would he look like if ever he cared about something, anything? If he ever cared about her?

  She shivered and shuddered at the same time, simultaneously intrigued and dismayed.

  All right. Enough mooning. Time to make him laugh. As soon as she succeeded, he had to take her home. They had a deal. And she had, what? A few days to get this done? Maybe a week? If they reached his home-realm first, she would fail. If she failed...

  He expected Gillian to "try" to seduce him.

  The moisture in her mouth dried. Could she try? Sex still topped her never-never list. Never acknowledge, never consider. Face it, she wore an imaginary chastity belt with no key.

  So why had she dreamed of Puck last night? Dreamed of his lips on hers, his hands roaming over the curves of her body. Why had she liked it?

  Upon awakening, she'd found her nipples hard, and her core hot, wet and aching.

  The bond must be responsible. And okay, okay, maybe even Puck himself. He'd slept behind her, his strong arm wrapped around her, offering warmth. The fur on his legs had been soft, so soft; he hadn't complained when she'd rubbed against him. Even better, he hadn't made a pass at her.

  But come on! One bizarre night couldn't overcome a lifetime of fear. She had to make the man laugh or cry. Something!

  "Are these other-realms we're visiting attached to Earth or, like, part of another galaxy?" she asked.

  "Both." He offered nothing more.

  The ensuing silence scraped her nerves raw. How could he be so cold now? During his bath, he'd smoldered, giving her a look that said I will do wicked things to you and you'll beg me for more.

  At the time, she'd been unprepared and had freaked out. Now, she kinda wanted to see that look again. He'd just...he'd been so distant with her.

  He moved a branch out of their path. When a leaf attempted to bite his wrist, he crunched the foliage in his powerful fist.

  Gillian watched, her fascination with Puck deepening. He was more confident and commanding than...anyone. Nothing frightened him. No challenge proved too difficult.

  For too long, she'd had zero self-esteem and just as many skills. She'd survived the mean streets of LA and New York with only her wits and bravado.

  I think he's becoming my role model.

  In many ways, he reminded her of William. He was fearless, headstrong and fierce. In other ways, the two were as different as night and day. William teased. Puck hadn't yet mastered the skill. William loved women of every size, shape and color. Puck seemed to notice no one but Gillian. William treated her like glass. Puck threatened her as easily as breathing.

  This morning he'd said, "New rule. You'll do what I say, when I say, without hesitation, or I'll put my hands on you and make you do it."

  She'd wanted to run away, but had forced herself to stay and snap, "My new rule? Stab you in the gut every time you put your hands on me." Brave words. Meaningless warning.

  Lost in thought, she failed to see the rock in her path. Her boot snagged on the protuberance, and she tripped. Puck never tried to help steady her.

  "All right. It's time to slow down," she grumbled as she climbed to her feet. "I'm beginning to lag."

  "Beginning to? Your perception of time is adorable."

  Jerk. He could travel for hours without taking a break. He never seemed to need food and water, a bathroom, or rest. "At this rate, my heart is going to explode."

  He decelerated at last, muttering, "Wives require more care and feeding than I realized."

  Ouch. "All wives or just me?" she muttered.

  "Considering you are my first wife, I can only reference you, now, can't I?"

  See! He had no idea how to tease or be teased. The man took everything she said as gospel. And what did he mean, first wife? They were bonded. Divorce couldn't be added to the menu--but maybe separation? Either way, he would never have a second wife, right?

  Okay. Time to get this conversation on the right track. "What made you laugh before your demon possession?" she asked.

  "Sin."

  "Sin. As in...wickedness?"

  "As in my younger brother."

  He had a brother? "Tell me about him."

  "No."

  Oookay. Short, non-sweet answers were Puck's specialty. Got it. Maybe she wouldn't go with amusement, happiness or even sadness. Maybe she'd go with anger.

  Yeah. Anger worked.

  "Random gravity check," she said, just before hooking her foot around his ankle.

  He stumbled, but managed to avoid a major face-plant. Besides casting her a frown over his shoulder, he gave no outward reaction. "What are you doing, lass?"

  "Making you furious. Obviously."

  "Why?"

  "You want to feel, remember? And, according to Professor Puck before he tried to change his tune, one emotion is as good as any other."

  Another glance over his shoulder revealed a deeper-set frown.

  Mental note: subject does not respond to slapstick or subtext.

  Back to sadness. "This isn't the life I envisioned for myself, you know." She pretended to sniffle. "I'm despised by my best friend--" Okay, she didn't have to force the next sniffle. Was William still angry with her? Or had he come to his senses? "--and I'm being rushed to a new home. A new world I know nothing about! The only person I'm familiar with is a man I know nothing about."

  "This life is better. Think of it. You are now Gillian Shaw, adventurer."

  Yes. Yes, she was. And she--

  Wait. Back up just a little. When the Lords of the Underworld married their girlfriends, said girlfriends immediately acquired a new last name: Lord. So, having said "I do"--or whatever Gillian had parroted during their impromptu ceremony--she was now... Gillian Lord? Puck was possessed, so, in theory, he was also a Lord of the Underworld.

  Crap! Who was she?

  "Don't be offended but--who am I kidding? You're never offended. What's your full name?" she asked.

  "Pukinn Neale Brion Connacht the Fourth." His accent, slight though it was, made each syllable sound like a song lyric.

  "I guess that makes me Gillian Elizabeth Shaw-Connacht. First of her house. Daughter without parents. Immortal. Wife to Puck. Friend to the Lords of the Underworld. Soon to be defender of the innocent. Bringer of smiles. Former world champion worrier."

  Again, no reaction
from him.

  "My sparkling wit is wasted on you." Wonderful.

  "Pukinn is a family name," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "The name of every firstborn since the crowning of the first Connacht king."

  Well, well. He'd offered information without prompting. Sweet progress.

  And he wasn't done. "My brother called me Puck. It means mischievous spirit. My people called me Neale, which means champion. My army called me Brion, which means he ascends. My friends call me Irish, because of the Puca. Well, the Puca and a thousand other reasons. The name Connacht is, apparently, a province in Ireland."

  "Puca?" So, in his homeland every name meant something?

  "The Puca are shapeshifters in Irish lore. Usually the creatures take the appearance of an animal, and are considered bringers of both good and bad fortune."

  "You've goat to be kidding me," she said, wiggling her brows. "Huh, huh? Come on! That's funny!"

  "No," he said. "I'm not kidding. And no, it's not funny. Are you even trying, lass? Perhaps you want to fail so you'll be forced to do what we both know I'll request."

  She gulped. Was he right? Even now, he drew her gaze like a magnet. She drank in all that flawless dark skin, those muscles, the wide breadth of shoulders that led to strong arms and claw-tipped hands.

  Turned on by those monstrous qualities? No! The bond, only the bond.

  "So, your family was named after the Irish?" she asked.

  He flicked a glance over his shoulder, his expression blank. "The Irish were named after us, a group of Amaranthians who moved to the mortal world. But I'm not a Puca. I'm more like a satyr or faun, I suppose."

  "What does Gillian mean?"

  "Youthful."

  "Ugh."

  When he flicked her a second glance, as if she were a magnet for him, her heart rate sped up and warm tingles ignited low in her belly. Her legs went weak, tremors of desire sweeping through her.

  She reeled. How had he elicited a response even William had not?

  "I answered your questions," Puck said. "Now you will answer mine."

  Despite a spike of foreboding, she nodded. "All right."

  "In the ice realm, you rubbed against me as you slept."

  Groan. Gonna go there, was he? "I don't hear a question."

  "What did you dream about?"

  A hissing sound registered. A second later, a reptile-thing launched from the trees. Target: Gillian's face. Puck reached out without a hitch in his step, caught the little bugger and tossed it like a baseball.

  After swallowing a scream of shock, she scrambled to put her thoughts together. She owed Puck an answer. Lying wasn't an option. She despised lies--the language of her stephorrors. But there was no way she'd admit the truth, either. He might consider it an invitation.