In Other Worlds

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  "Who the hell are you!" she demanded, realizing too late she had jumped to the wrong side of the bed. He was between her and the door.

  Dear God, help her!

  But he didn't make a move toward her. He merely watched her from the bed with a look that could only be called patience. His silver chain-mail suit shimmered in the light, and he wore a white surcoat that held a red crescent moon and a stag.

  He looked just like . . .

  Her head swam at the implication. It couldn't be. It just could not be.

  "I am the Earl of Ravensmoor. And you are?"

  "Totally freaking out," she said.

  "'Tis a most peculiar name, milady. Are you by chance Welsh?"

  Taryn struggled to catch her breath as she stared at the gorgeous man on her bed who talked with a deep, evocative English accent. A man who looked entirely too much like the hero on the cover of her book.

  He even wore the same gold torc around his neck. . . . What the hell was going on here?

  In that moment she half expected to hear the theme from The Twilight Zone start playing and for Rod Serling to begin his spiel about dimensions.

  "How did you get into my house?" she asked.

  It was only then he moved from the bed. Like some languid, graceful predator coming out of a crouch, he approached her. His muscles literally rippled with movement as his mail suit rasped slightly with his steps. A wickedly warm smile toyed at the edges of his handsome lips as he tilted her chin to where he could stare down into her eyes.

  The power of him overwhelmed her. He was massive and tall, and so incredibly gorgeous that all she really wanted to do was take a bite out of him. The manly scent of sandalwood and leather invaded her head, making her breathless and warm.

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  His fingers stayed against her jaw, raising chills over her as she looked into eyes so incredibly green they barely seemed real. Eyes that hypnotized her with the danger and intelligence they revealed about the man who possessed them.

  He was being gentle with her, but there was no doubt he could be lethal. No doubt he had the strength to do with her as he pleased.

  And yet he made no other move to touch her. He merely stared at her with a leashed hunger that burned her from the inside out.

  When he spoke, the deep possessiveness of his voice actually sent a shiver through her. "In truth, milady, I know not. I only know that I am here to win you."

  Win me? She frowned at his strange choice of words. "Win me how?"

  "With whatever it takes."

  Oh, yeah, this was weird. Had she hit her head on something? Was she still dreaming? Maybe she had a fever that was causing delusions. Early dementia? Taryn bit her lip as she tried to sort through this to come up with a plausible explanation for why this gorgeous piece of anachronistic male flesh was in her house and not trying to rape her.

  Maybe this was just some hallucination brought on by too much stress and too much caffeine. But the hand on her face felt too real and the man before her too commanding to be imagined.

  "Look, Mr. Freaky Man, I don't know how you got in here, but you need to leave or I'm calling the cops."

  "Cops?"

  "Police. Bobbies. You know, the law. "

  He frowned at that. "I am the law, milady. I answer to no one save myself."

  Oh, this was so not good.

  He dipped his head down until his dark whiskers scraped her cheek, and he whispered in her ear.

  "Never fear me, little one," he breathed huskily. "You are my heroine and I have no intention of harming you. Ever."

  "Then what do you intend to do?"

  He pulled back and gave her a devilish grin. "I intend to woo you. To make you head over heels in love with me by week's end."

  Nervous laughter bubbled up through her. This was just too bizarre for words.

  "You don't believe me?" he asked with an arrogant look.

  "Buddy, I don't know what to believe." She really didn't. "How did you get into my house anyway?"

  He shrugged. "One moment I was in front of my . . ." His eyes turned sharp with anger as he hesitated. He cleared his throat. "I blinked and here I was."

  "You blinked like Jeannie, right?"

  "Jeannie?"

  "Never mind."

  He moved his fingers down her jaw, then laced them through her hair. And when he dipped his head toward hers, she quickly stepped out of his embrace and moved to the door. Halfway there, she stumbled to a standstill as her gaze caught the book on her nightstand. Her dark knight with the sword was gone, and in his place was a blond guy holding a bouquet of flowers.

  Nuh-uh!

  Disbelief ran through her. It couldn't be. It just could not be....

  "Sparhawk?"

  He cocked his head at her. "You know my name?"

  "Okay," she said slowly. "I'm on drugs." It didn't really matter to her that she had never once taken any, but there seemed no other logical explanation. Esther must have slipped her a mickey in her coffee. Though why it had taken seventeen hours for it to work, she didn't know. There just had to be some sane, logical reason why the stupidly named Sparhawk the Brave, Earl of Ravensmoor, was here in his armor and she was losing her mind. Page 58

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  But there really wasn't one.

  I need to call Esther.

  If anyone knew what was going on, it would surely be her. After picking up the phone and dialing for information, Taryn quickly learned there was no listing for the store. And honestly, it wasn't really a surprise. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, she had figured as much.

  Still, she felt the need to find out whatever she could. "Tell you what, I'm going to get dressed real fast and you and I are going to take a trip."

  "Where?"

  "To a little bookstore."

  He frowned at her. "What is a bookstore?"

  She rubbed her temple. "I guess they didn't have those in the Middle Ages, did they?"

  "Middle Ages? Lady, you use very strange words."

  She gave another nervous laugh. "Yeah, okay, let me not tarry," she said, using words she hoped he'd understand better. "I shall dress forthwith and hasten myself back to thee or thou or whatever it is."

  If anything his frown increased, and as she headed for the bathroom, she could have sworn she heard him say, "She's a strange demoiselle, but a highly amusing one."

  Sparhawk ventured from the room as he waited for Lady Totally Freaking Out to return. The witch had not been jesting when she said this world would be filled with strange marvels. There were plants inside containers that held no water or soil. Strange furniture covered in dark green fabric. Nothing in this woman's dwelling appeared even remotely familiar to him.

  What was this place the witch had sent him to? Was it another planet perhaps? A world of sorcerers?

  Perhaps he should fear for his immortal soul, but then, given the thought of returning to Alinor, even something that threatened his eternity had to be better than her cloying smile and lackluster wit. As he poked at the plant that had a strange, unnatural texture to it, he felt a presence behind him. Turning his head, he froze. His new lady wore a strange short-sleeved tunic and a pair of breeches that had been shorn off high on her thighs. The sight of those long legs made him think of how soft her skin had felt in his palm and of how much better it would taste under his tongue. He trailed his gaze over her lush curves to her face, where her pink cheeks told him his stare made her uncomfortable. He smiled at the knowledge.

  Taryn couldn't move as she watched Sparhawk watch her. The man was so incredibly hot. His green eyes filled with heat and carnal knowledge. She knew what he was thinking, and quite honestly, she was thinking it, too. Imagine having that naked and spread out on her bed . . . over her body. Yeah, boy!

  He filled out that armor in the way she was sure medieval smiths had meant
for it to be worn. His broad shoulders were thrown back with pride, and he bore the presence of a man confident in himself. The man in him devastated the woman in her.

  And it was then she realized she couldn't really take him into public wearing medieval armor. Not unless they were going to a Ren Faire. People might begin to ask questions she couldn't even begin to answer, and the last thing she needed was for this to turn into some bad low-budget B movie with the two of them ending up in a lab somewhere.

  Or worse, an asylum.

  While she stared, he crossed the room to stand before her. "Tell me, milady, where is your guardian?"

  She frowned. "You mean my parents?"

  "I mean whoever is responsible for your future."

  "That would be me."

  A puzzled look crossed his handsome features until they melted into one of amusement. "Truly? You answer only unto yourself?"

  "Just like you."

  He smiled at that, and before she realized what he intended, he captured her lips with his. Taryn tensed for a moment and started to step back, but his arms quickly surrounded her, drawing her Page 59

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  closer to his heat as he opened her mouth and ravished it. There was no other word for the complete possession he took.

  She'd been kissed plenty of times in her life, but never like this. Never with such heated intensity. His tongue coaxed hers, his lips demanding.

  And the smell of him . . .

  So manly. So warm. So sexual.

  Rising up on her tiptoes, she moaned from the feel of him, wanting to draw him in deeper. To taste more of this incredible male.

  Sparhawk growled at the passion in her caress as she wrapped her arms about him. She clung to him and met his kiss with a hunger that surprised him. Aye, she was a wild one. One who would bed him well, and he in turn would never leave her wanting more. Never leave until she was completely spent and satisfied.

  In that moment he knew she was the one he would take as his own. He would never go back to Alinor.

  Never.

  He cupped her face in his hands and reluctantly pulled back. She kept her eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

  He smiled.

  When she opened her large, doe-like eyes and stared up at him, he felt a strange surge through him. It was raw and aching and it demanded her in a way that stunned him.

  "That was nice," she said breathlessly.

  He laughed. 'Twas the first time any woman had said that to him. Taryn tried to regain her equilibrium, but it wasn't easy. Not when all she really wanted to do was step back into his arms and have her most wicked way with him. Worse was the little tiny voice in the back of her mind that kept saying having sex with a character from a romance novel didn't count anyway. Right?

  She could do anything she wanted to with him, and no one would ever know. . . . Oh, yeah, that could be fun.

  "Okay, Spar . . ." She paused on his name. Sparhawk just sounded too ludicrous for words when spoken out loud.

  What had the writer been thinking?

  Oh, do me, great big Sparhawk. You the man. Taryn laughed in spite of herself. Nope, that name did not work in reality.

  "What would you like me to call you?" she asked.

  He cocked an arrogant brow at her. "You may call me Earl."

  Taryn bit back another laugh. Yeah, right. That was probably the only thing worse than Sparhawk. And for some unholy reason the Dixie Chicks song "Goodbye Earl" started going through her head. Oh, good grief!

  "Okay, look, your majesty or grace or whatever, Earl and Sparhawk aren't going to cut it for the moment, okay?"

  Somehow Sparhawk managed to look ever more regal and arched. "I beg your pardon? This from a woman called Totally Freaking Out?"

  This was rapidly disintegrating into even more chaos and bizarreness. "My name isn't Totally Freaking Out. It's Taryn. Taryn Edwards."

  He seemed to relax a bit. "Lady Taryn?"

  "No, just Taryn."

  "Very well, Taryn. You may call me Sparhawk."

  Taryn bit her lip as she winced. "You know, big guy, I just can't really do that."

  "Then call me milord," he said, totally missing her point.

  Taryn took a deep breath. "Let me explain my world to you. If I call you milord and you call me Page 60

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  milady, people are going to lock both of us up."

  "In the stocks?"

  "Sure. Um, so I need a name I can call you that won't make anyone look at us strangely." Or make me laugh out loud every time I use it.

  "Since this is your world, mi--" He broke off his words as she cocked a brow. "Taryn. Tell me, what name should I use?"

  Taryn stared at him for several minutes as she ran over the possibilities. He was too incredible to be something simple like Tom or Ken or Robert. He needed a more studly name. Finally she settled on just shortening it. "How about just Hawk?"

  Still a little ridiculous, but better.

  He nodded. "Very well, Taryn. For you, I shall be known as Hawk."

  A strange flutter shot through her at his words. For you. No doubt he had meant nothing special by them; still they warmed her.

  "Now we have to do something about those clothes."

  "You would change my name and my clothing, milady. Is there nothing about me you find acceptable?"

  A hurt look flashed across his eyes so fast that she thought she might have imagined it. And it was then she remembered what she had read about him in the book. . . .

  Alinor's words made his old wounds bleed anew.

  He had cut his teeth on criticism and had long ago ceased holding any tolerance for it. No one needed to point out his shortcomings to him, for he knew each fault he possessed quite intimately as it had been pointed out with crystal clarity in his youth, under the violent tutelage of his lord. If this was really the Sparhawk character come to life, then he would have had the same past as the Sparhawk in the book.

  Her heart lurched at the thought. The man in the book had borne solitude and suffering the whole of his life. It was his pain that had kept her up late reading about him, her need to see him happy that had her turning page after page as she hoped Alinor would get a clue and realize what a great guy she had. Taryn paused at the thought.

  No, it's not real. He's not real. Sparhawk is a book knight. He can't come to life. And yet . . .

  "What happened to your parents?" she asked.

  His eyes turned dull. "My mother died birthing my still-born brother, and my father died of grief a few months later."

  "Had you been worth anything, boy, your father wouldn't have damned himself to the devil by taking his own life to be rid of you. . . ."

  Taryn flinched as she remembered the words Sparhawk's uncle had said when they delivered the frightened boy to his door. Barely eight, Sparhawk had dared to argue at his unfair treatment, and his uncle had struck him so hard, the cut from the man's ring had left a scar. A scar on his left cheek, right below his eye.

  A scar that would probably look just like the faint one Hawk had on his left cheek. Her heart stopped.

  "You were sent to live with your uncle when you were eight?" she asked, hoping he would deny it.

  "How did you know that?"

  Taryn felt ill. Taking deep breaths, she sat on the arm of her dark blue sofa. "Oh, boy," she breathed. Her head swam from the possibilities. How could this be real? How could he have gotten into her world? How?

  Hawk moved toward her, taking her arm. "Are you all right, Taryn? You look faint."

  In all honesty, she felt faint. "I'm fine," she said, staring at the long tapered fingers grasping her arm. Fingers that were as flesh and bone as the man at her side.

  "We need to see Esther." Oh, yeah, they really did. She had to have some real answers.

  "Esther? The witch?"

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  "Pardon?"

  "The witch who sent me here. Her name was Esther. Do you know of her?"

  Taryn's eyes widened. "Little gray-haired woman with brown eyes?"

  "Aye."

  "She sent you here?"

  He nodded.

  Oh, that figured. "Did she happen to say why you were sent here?"

  "I asked for it. I wanted a way to escape my impending doom with Alinor, and she told me that I would find myself in a miraculous world, which I have. But I don't know the script here, only that you are my heroine and that I should make you fall in love with me."

  Oh . . . good . . . grief. "Why would you ask such a thing? Your world didn't seem so bad."

  By the look on his face, she could tell he disagreed. "I have my reasons, milady. There are many unpleasantries at home that I would soonest avoid."

  She could understand that. She had her own unpleasantries she'd like to avoid. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she forced herself up and returned to the issue that had started it all. His clothes. She had some of Rob's sweats that she'd borrowed one night when she had accidentally spilled Coke all over herself at his house. Though Rob wasn't nearly as large as Hawk, the sweats should stretch enough to at least be decent.

  Ten minutes later after she'd given them to Hawk, she recanted that idea as Hawk came out of the bedroom wearing navy sweats that hugged a rump so prime she was amazed the USDA hadn't stamped it. And her XXL T-shirt was pulled taut over a chest so well-toned she could hire him out for a muscle magazine ad.

  Worse, those sweats rode low on his lean hips, showing his six-pack of abs off to perfection. Oh, mama, she wanted a bite of that.

  And in that moment she wanted to thank the unknown author of his book. The woman was a goddess!

  And her taste in men should be applauded until the cows came home and tap-danced on the front lawn. Sparhawk paused as he caught the heated stare of Taryn's large brown eyes. She never so much as blinked as she sized him up. He smiled from the knowledge.

  Lust he could work with. It was indifference that would spell the end to his plans.

  "Are my clothes appropriate?" he asked.

  She nodded, blinked, then met his gaze. "What was that?"

  He laughed. "I asked if my clothing was now acceptable to you."

  "Mmm-hmmm," she said, the noise carrying her approval. "All we need are tennis shoes and we're in business."

  He didn't ask. In truth, he feared the answer. Tennis shoes sounded almost painful. "I have my boots."