The Darkest Warrior

by Gena Showalter

  "Calm down, both of you, or I'll use what remains of my magic to make you fall in love--with each other." Her runes glowed the most sublime shade of gold. "Now then. William, sweetie, you don't know this world or these clans. I do. You hide. I'll take care of business."

  Puck's runes answered in kind, buzzing and sizzling.

  "Gilly--" William began, trying again.

  "I'm sorry, Liam, but I don't have time to humor you."

  "Humor me?" the male sputtered as she rushed off.

  Puck watched as she issued commands, her clanswomen obeying without protest. A true testament of her ability to lead.

  "You, to the parapet," she called. "You, to the outer wall. You, get our first line in front of the gate."

  The girl Puck left behind had lacked confidence. The woman he'd returned to had confidence in spades.

  And I want her more for it.

  "You did this to her," William snarled.

  Ignoring him, Puck considered the defenses he'd seen upon his arrival at camp. A massive stone wall outlined the perimeter--a wall he would have had to scale, if not for Cameron's interference.

  "Lower the gate and let him in," his friend had said. "Preferably without killing him."

  Soldiers had lined the entire length. On each side--north, east, south and west--he'd noticed a lookout tower. Connecting those towers, a second parapet where archers waited at the ready.

  "If she's hurt..." Literal steam wafted from William's nose.

  "She's proven she can get hurt and recover." Tonight, Puck would do his part, prove his strength to her.

  Done talking, he charged toward the northern tower. He confiscated a bow, a basket of arrows, three daggers and two short swords, either from tables loaded with weapons, or straight from a Shawazon. The vibrations in his horns intensified; the Walsh soldiers marched ever closer.

  As Puck drew on centuries of unwavering focus--will do what needs doing, no hesitation--the demon quieted.

  Up the stairs. Onto the parapet. On either side of him, archers formed a line, the women stood shoulder to shoulder, their bows nocked and ready.

  "Try not to hit me," he said as he scanned the dunes. "My death heralds your queen's. Spread the word." Night shadows were thick, hiding trees, a nearby lake...but not soldiers. There.

  He debated his options: stay here and kill the soldiers who scaled the wall, or plow into the army's midst and stop them from climbing altogether, but also put himself in the archers' sight lines?

  At times like this, he missed his brother.

  William materialized at his side, daggers replaced by curved swords. He scanned the masses. "Oh, goodie, another sausage fest."

  Ignore. Option A or option B?

  Logic raised a hand and said, B, please. Keep as many soldiers as possible away from the wall. The fewer Walshes able to invade camp, the safer Gillian's clan would remain. If Puck got pegged with arrows, he got pegged. Wounds healed.

  Now, how to proceed with option B? The parapet was the width of a human road. On the far side, some sort of pulley-rope system. Bingo. Puck anchored one end of the rope to a pulley, tied the other end of the rope around his waist and barrelled forward, nocking three arrows at once. As he fell, he released the arrows. Metal whistled through the air, blending with the howl of wind. Grunts and groans sounded.

  Landing jarred him, bones juddering, perhaps even cracking. Refusing to slow, he nocked three more arrows, released. Nocked, released.

  Magic floated from the bodies and flowed over him, absorbing into his runes. Power, such delicious power. Missed this.

  A new chorus of whistles pierced the air as the archers atop the wall released their arrows. The soldiers kept running, merely lifting their shields. Arrows pinged off steel, and fell to the ground, useless.

  Once again, William appeared beside Puck. "You're not getting all the glory. Try to keep up." He sprang into action, rushing forward to meet the cadre head-on.

  Puck remained in place, continuing to slay from a distance, building his supply of magic. With every release of the bow, more bodies fell, more power absorbed into his runes. Filling him. Soon overflowing.

  There. With a cold smile, he raised his arms and shoved a violent wave of magic through his fingertips. Mound after mound of sand gathered at his sides, creating a new wall, blocking the parapet.

  He dropped the bow and withdrew his swords. Running forward. Engaging. Swinging, hacking. Heads and limbs detached. Blood sprayed. Every drop of magic he gained, he used to keep the wall of sand in place.

  Felling one Walsh after another, William made his way back to Puck's side. To his shock, they worked together in harmony, taking out soldiers while dodging arrows, bodies piled up around them.

  Runes glowed in William's hands, new symbols appearing. Symbols Puck had never seen before.

  "All right. I've had enough of this." The Ever Randy kicked one opponent, punched another, then dropped a sword to slap his hand against Puck's.

  Boom!

  Absolute power detonated between them, crashing over the entire army, no one able to outrun it. Every man dropped, including Puck and William. Not even the sand wall was immune; it toppled.

  Gillian, Winter, Cameron and a handful of others rushed over, their weapons at the ready.

  "What happened?" Cameron asked.

  Puck was panting, his limbs shaking. "Not sure."

  William said, "I used you as a battery, unleashed my power. I guess that makes me the night's MVP."

  Seeing the sea of crimson and motionless bodies, Gillian scowled. "You took our kills, and our magic. Magic we needed." Hostility blasted from her, charging the air. "You acted against my orders and stole from my people."

  "Calm down, Gillian," Winter beseeched. "The boys didn't mean to take our kills, I'm sure of it. Or kind of sure. They'll probably apologize. Right, Puck?"

  Confusion kept him quiet. Gillian's dark eyes gleamed like polished onyx, her pupils blown. Animal-like snarls were rumbling from her throat as she fisted her hands and braced her legs apart.

  She'd just assumed a battle stance.

  "No Hulking-out." Cameron gripped a pair of axes and shooed the rest of their audience away. "I don't want to hack off your hands again."

  The Shawazons ran as if their lives depend on it.

  A Hulk-out. Rage threatened to overwhelm her, then. But this was no little tantrum as he'd supposed. In the letters, she claimed she lost control of her actions and did things she later regretted.

  Then the rest of Cameron's words registered. "You hacked off her hands?" he asked, his tone quiet but lethal.

  "Gilly?" William said with a frown. "What--"

  With a screech, she picked up two dead bodies as if they weighed nothing and tossed them at the male.

  Puck jumped to his feet, intending to rush to his woman, but Winter moved in front of him, stopping him. "Don't. You'll lose an arm. Or more. You can't stop her. No one can. All we can do is let the rage burn out."

  William failed to heed the warning and raced over, reaching for Gillian.

  Annnd, yes, she ripped off his arm.

  He bellowed in pain as blood spurted from the gaping wound.

  All right. From this point forward, Puck wouldn't have to do any pretending about admiring her battle skill. The woman could hold her own, against anyone.

  In only a few seconds, William regrew another arm. The fastest regeneration Puck had ever beheld. But the male didn't approach Gillian again. Eyes wide, he backed away from her.

  What had reduced the little darling to such a state? The rage--as out of control as it was--could not originate inside her.

  The day Puck and Gillian had bonded, he thought he'd felt emotion flow between them. Had he somehow given her the rage he'd buried throughout the centuries?

  Guilt slashed his insides to confetti, and Indifference feasted on the remains. No way Puck could stay away. He had to help.

  As he approached, a body soared over his head, then another and another. "I'm not g
oing to hurt you, wife."

  As much as Puck enjoyed seeing the other man ripped to shreds, he would rather see his woman smile tomorrow. Violence wasn't her default setting, and she would most assuredly chastise herself for harming the bastard.

  More bodies. One slammed into his chest, knocking him back a few steps. Okay, then. Slow and easy had failed. He'd have to go in hard and go in fast.

  He picked up speed and dived, tossing her to the ground. Rather than twisting to take the bulk of impact himself, he forced her to hit first, and allowed his weight to crash down on her. Cruel but necessary. Air gushed from her lungs and her skull bounced off the sand, weakening her. Rendering her unconscious?

  No such luck. Like a wildcat, she clawed at his back, and tore his shirt. She even sank her teeth into his throat in a clear attempt to remove his trachea. Pain seared him. Whatever. With magic, he caused thorny vines to grow from the sand, wrap around her neck, wrists and ankles, and hold her in place.

  He lifted his head, grunted. Her teeth held on to his flesh as long as possible.

  "Enough," he commanded.

  She continued to struggle, one of the thorns cutting through her wrist and coming out the other side. As crimson rivers snaked down her forearm, his stomach twisted.

  She would fight until she bled out, wouldn't she?

  My brave, beautiful girl. "Gillian," he croaked. Warm blood poured from the wound in his neck and dripped onto her face.

  The sight broke something in him. A heart he'd thought Sin had long since destroyed?

  How could he help her? He didn't want to use ice, the way he'd often done with Cameron and Winter the times their demons had gotten the better of them. What if Gillian never melted?

  Watch the fire in her eyes die? Never!

  When she attempted to buck up, uncaring as the thorns sliced into her vulnerable neck, he flinched. Well. No other choice. Must do something before she decapitates herself.

  Will be so careful. He straddled her waist, cradled her face with his big, bloody hands and focused inwardly, on the demon, then the bond--the site of her rage. Oh, yes. He was at fault.

  With only the barest hint of magic, Puck summoned ice while thrumming mental fingers along the bond, as if he were playing a harp. Where he touched, fire died and ice spread.

  Beneath him, Gillian's motions slowed, then ceased altogether. Half-fearful of what he'd find, he opened his eyes to peer down at her. She lay on the sand, panting, studying him right back. Her eyes were dull, no hint of flame.

  He swallowed a shout of denial, one to rival Indifference.

  "What did you do to me?" she asked, and the flatness of her tone made him cringe.

  He dismissed the thorns, freeing her. She made no move to rise. "I summoned ice," he replied. "For you."

  "I'm Ice Woman, then."

  Aye. "You are well, lass?"

  "This is what you feel when you go cold? This nothingness?" As if she didn't care enough to await his answer, she shut her eyelids and let herself drift off to sleep.

  Chest a maze of land mines, Puck gathered his sleeping wife in his arms and stood. "I'm going to tend to her wounds. Anyone tries to stop me, they die."

  *

  Gillian floated in and out of consciousness. More than once she noted the heated blanket of fur pressed against her side and rubbed against it. So soft!

  At different times, familiar voices penetrated her awareness.

  Puck: You were afraid of her.

  William: I am all realms, all ages. I am darkness and light. I am power like you've never known. I fear nothing and no one.

  Puck: Face it, Willy. You're still afraid.

  William: I'm pissed! If you want your crown, you'll keep your hands off her from now on. Do you feel me? Oh, and one more thing. If she's indifferent when she awakens... She had better not be indifferent!

  Puck: Keeping my hands to myself was never part of our bargain.

  The conversation dwindled from her awareness, another soon taking its place.

  Winter: Somehow you did what only the cuisle mo chroidhe syrup can do and calmed her. Nothing else has ever worked.

  Cameron: Problem is, we've tapped all the trees.

  Puck: There are plenty--in Connacht territory.

  William: Perhaps, when the time comes, I'll wed her in Connacht territory. You can serve as a witness, Pucker.

  He'd gone from sleeping together to marriage? Sigh.

  Gillian had no idea how much time passed before she opened her eyes, memories of the battle flooding her. Oh...crap. She'd harmed William, then Puck, then tangled with Puck's ice.

  Her rage had vanished. Every emotion had vanished. She had cared for nothing and no one. Even the thought of dying was meh. So was the thought of living. Hurt the people she loved? Go for it.

  The strength Puck wielded to persevere without causing widespread collateral damage...incredible! Her admiration of him skyrocketed. He was a warrior of warriors. And okay, yes, she wanted to hug him and kiss him and lick him all over, which meant the ice inside her had already melted.

  Different emotions swamped her. At the forefront? Dismay. It bounced her heart against her ribs. What kind of collateral damage had she caused?

  Sitting up, she took stock. She was in her loft, in her own bed, alone and uninjured, wearing clean clothes. No head scarf. Muffled voices drifted from below...

  She made her way to the first floor. Puck stood beside Peanut, feeding her pet an apple. My family...

  Bounce, bounce. And not from dismay this time.

  Puck had bathed, changed and anchored his damp hair into a warrior-chic ponytail, fewer razors than usual hanging from the ends. He looked flawless and otherworldly, so masculine he set her every feminine instinct on fire.

  He looked like home.

  Whoa! Home? She did not just think that. They'd fooled around once, and would hopefully go for round two soon. Because yes, she craved another orgasm and longed to witness--and cause--his. But she couldn't forget his tendency to freeze her out afterward. Or that he planned to let her go.

  Would he ever think of her again? Maybe not. Until now, she hadn't fully comprehended the breadth of his apathy. To be hollowed out, completely devoid of emotion--she hadn't felt like a living being but lower than an animal.

  There is no happy ending for you, Gillian Connacht.

  She bit her tongue until she tasted the copper tang of blood. Stupid Oracles! Sure, happy endings weren't given away for free, but she would fight tooth and nail for hers. She would help Puck and William do their thing, even accept a divorce. As she learned what living without a bond felt like, she would rule the Shawazons and start dating, just like she'd hoped.

  The idea wasn't repellent. Or exciting.

  Why do I feel like I'm headed to my execution?

  William stretched across the couch, a man of leisure. "I noticed Gillian doesn't wear your ring, Pucker. But then, you already gave her one, did you not? Five hundred years of suffering."

  Puck went rigid. "Funny, when I held her in my arms, it wasn't your name she screamed."

  Now William went rigid.

  Dear Lord. "I thought you two were going to kiss and make up."

  At once, all three males focused on her. William eased up, silent, watching her with something akin to suspicion. Peanut trotted over to nuzzle her, as if to say, You can do no wrong, Momma.

  Puck... Oh, my. His dark eyes devoured her.

  Do not react! "I Hulked-out," she said, shifting from one foot to the other to assuage the sudden ache between her legs. "I'm so sorry, William. And I know that's not good enough. But how am I supposed to atone for ripping off your arm? Fruit basket? Hug? Offer to pay for one hundred years of therapy? Say you forgive me. Please! Because, when I say I'm sorry, I'm one hundred percent sincere. I mean it."

  "Poppet, I can't--"

  "You can't forgive her?" Puck interrupted, and she thought she glimpsed a taunting gleam in his eyes. "You're being unreasonable, Randy Man. She said sorry and she was s
incere."

  William tensed with aggression, ready to strike. "Is this how it's going to be? If you want to play, Pucker, we'll play."

  "No!" Gillian pressed her hands together, forming a steeple. "No playing, no fighting. William, your gift to me--to pay me back for allowing you to forgive me--is to kiss and make up with Puck. No? Too soon? Okay, well, maybe you guys should stay away from me. What if I rip your head off next time? What if I kill you?"

  Her friend offered a chiding smile. "I can't stay angry with you. You're forgiven--and I'll merely thank you for allowing it. But your worries are unfounded. I'm too strong, too fast."

  Argh! Would he ever take her skills seriously? "Yeah, but what if you're not? You weren't strong or fast enough to stop your arm amputation."

  He spread two perfect arms, all I'm the last sane man in the universe. "I was...surprised. Next time I'll be prepared."

  "How about this," Puck said, as if her question was totally logical and she was smart for asking. "I'll rip off William's limbs at random times. That way, you aren't the only one causing him pain. We'll share responsibility equally."

  "That is a really sweet offer," she replied, her hand fluttering over her heart. "Thank you."

  "Sweet?" William bellowed.

  "But," she added, "what if I rip off your arms? Maybe I should--"

  "Stay behind? Excellent idea." William nodded.

  "--do the mission by myself," she finished with a frown. He wanted to leave her behind?

  "If you rip off my arms," Puck said, "you have to feed me by hand until they regrow."

  Why, why, why did she have to like his response so much better than William's? "Deal."

  "How often do Hulk-outs happen?"

  "Once or twice a month."

  "Then I'm the one who owes you an apology," he said, looking away. "I'm to blame for your rages. Emotions I bury are traveling through our bond, and you're the one forced to deal with them."

  Dude! Really? The rage belonged to Puck? Well, that didn't not make sense.

  The guy either felt too much or nothing at all. What a terrible existence.

  "All right. Enough chatter." William swiped up a pile of folded T-shirts and stood. "We have a mission to start. You'll be pleased to know I took the liberty of making team uniforms." Smirking, he sauntered toward her.

  Peanut hissed at him, a clear warning to stay away.