Darkness Surrendered (Primal Heat Trilogy #3) (Order of the Blade) (48 page)

Love.

*Stay tuned for Kane’s story in
Darkness Reborn
, coming Summer 2012*

(Order of the Blade, Book Four)

(dark & sexy paranormal romance, available Summer 2012)

Even with his chest heaving from exertion, his weapons burning in his hands, steam rising from his bare torso from the humidity, and the very earth itself ruthlessly torn up from the battle, Kane Santiago wanted more.

He needed more. He needed to keep going until sheer, raw exhaustion clawed at him and dragged him ruthlessly into the sleep that wouldn’t come, until he was so drained that he couldn’t think any more.

Kane had been driving himself relentlessly for eleven days straight, but it hadn’t been enough to chase away the gaping void trying to consume him. It had been coming at him for months, this great pit of hell, stalking him at every moment, but now it felt like his entire soul had been sucked from his body and thrust into a bottomless void of blackness.

He didn’t know what was coming for him or how to stop it. He didn’t have answers. All he had was a scarred body that looked like an artist had used his flesh for a canvas and a knife for a paintbrush.

Kane’s skin looked like ancient designs had been traced into it, but no one on this God-forsaken earth could explain why he had them or what they meant. Kane’s memories of his life began five hundred years ago, the day Dante Sinclair, the Order of the Blade’s former leader, had hauled him out of the gutter. How old had he been that day? Thirty? A hundred? Two hundred? How had he ended up there, covered in body art of the most brutal kind?

He had no idea, but the story carved on his body and the enormity of the blackness overtaking him made it clear that there was shit he needed to know about his prior life, and he was running out of time to do it.

The air in the southern Oregon woods was thick with moisture, rich with the scent of earth saturated by the rain that was too cold for this time of year. Steam was rising off the warm moss, and thick fog was rolling in fast, sucked in by the dance of the heat and cold. The very air Kane was breathing was alive with vibrant energy, and yet all he could feel was the endless freefall of his very soul into the bottomless chasm of darkness.

“These guys were serious shit.” Caked with sweat and blood from the battle, Ryland Samuels crouched beside one of the two rogue Calydons they’d been hunting for the last six hours, deadly bastards that had put up a hell of a fight before Ryland and Kane had taken them down. Usually two-on-two battles were weighted so heavily in favor of the Order of the Blade that they lasted less than a second.

These two rogues had kept Ryland and Kane at max capacity for over two hours before the good guys had won, which was bizarre as hell because the rogues had been so underdeveloped physically that they couldn’t have been more than eighteen. No rookie should ever have been able to put up that kind of battle against elite warriors who had been saving the world for over five hundred years.

Ryland hooked his machete under one of their wrists and raised the dead warrior’s hand. “What’s with the manicure?”

Kane swung his head around to look. Ten-inch claws protruded from the tips of the Calydon’s fingers, still covered in Kane’s blood from when it had tried to cleave his heart out. “Maybe they came up from Hollywood. You know how these fancy Californians are all bailing up to Oregon nowadays. How the hell would I know what his deal is?”

Ryland narrowed his eyes at Kane’s aggression. “You seen it before?”

“No.” Kane shifted restlessly, unable to settle now that the battle was over. He was on edge, his instincts still ready for more action. He knew they needed to figure out what was up with the strangers who had invaded their territory, but he couldn’t focus. All his senses were on overload, telling him that something was deadly wrong. He scanned the woods, hunting for a clue, but came up with nothing.

Ryland dropped the kid’s wrist. “What’s your deal, Santiago?”

Kane whirled around to face his teammate, his adrenaline leaping at the tense undercurrent in Ryland’s voice. “What?”

Ryland flashed him a grin that didn’t reach his pitch-black eyes. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be on the edge of going rogue, not you. You planning to snap so you’re the next one who has to be cut down to save the world, instead of me?”

“I’m not going rogue.” Most Calydons went rogue only after bonding with their soul mates, but a rare few turned into mindless, killing machines on their own. Expectations were high that Ryland fell into that category, but Kane had his shit together. “I’m fine.”

Ryland rose to his feet, his well-muscled bulk innately aggressive, accented by his black jeans and t-shirt, shredded mercilessly from the fight. “Don’t lie to me, Santiago. There’s no room for that shit between us.”

The brands in Kane’s arms burned, and he fisted his flails, the spiked balls spinning on the ends of the steel chains. The clang of the metal balls cracking against each other jerked his attention to them, making him realize what he’d been about to do. Hell, he was ready to strike first against his own teammate? Kane swore and sheathed his weapons. They vanished into the air, returning to the brands on his arms that were an exact match for the weapons they housed. He held up his hands in surrender. “Stand down. I’m good.”

Ryland raised his brows, and he sheathed his own weapons, taking the temptation away from them both. “Shit, man. You’re off, big time.”

“I—” A sound caught Kane’s attention, and he turned sharply. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Ryland went still, and the air hummed as both Calydons reached out into the night with their senses.

For a moment, Kane heard nothing but the skitter of rodents’ feet, the hoot of owls, and the crackling of the earth as it drank in the moisture from the night.

Then he heard it again.

A woman’s scream. Unending terror and pain. The roar of a spirit fighting desperately and hopelessly for its very survival.

The sound went straight to Kane’s core, ripping through his shields like a burning knife into his heart. His whole body vibrated in response, adrenaline raging with the need to find her. To protect her. To save her. Kane spun around wildly, almost desperately, trying to pinpoint the sound and determine where it was coming from. It was bouncing off the trees, echoing in the air, coming at him from all directions, like an assault of agony. “Fuck!”

“What?” Ryland strode up beside him. “I don’t hear anything.”

“How can you not hear that?” She screamed again, eviscerating every defense Kane had. He had to go. Had to find her. Had to save her and find out who she was.
She needed him.
Black light flashed above the brands on his arms, a loud crack rent the night, and then Kane’s weapons appeared in his hands, the glittering steel ready for battle.

“What is it?” Ryland called out his own machetes with a crack and a flash of black light. “I don’t hear anything. Tell me what you got.”

Kane shoved his teammate aside, his entire soul howling with the need to find the woman. “Where are you?” he bellowed, his voice echoing into the night.

No response. Just the ominous doom of silence.

Agony ripped through Kane, loss so severe he went down on his knees, gasping for breath. He braced his hands on the earth, his fingers digging into the moss, fighting against the crushing blackness, the loss, the shredding of his innermost core—

Help me.

His head snapped up at the desperate plea that suddenly invaded his mind. His entire being vibrated with rightness at the sound of her voice. He lurched to his feet as her anguish shredded his mental shields and consumed him.
I hear you.
He sent out his reassurance, his iron-strength, showing her the immense power he offered.

There was no relief from her. Just another stab of pain that knifed all the way to Kane’s gut.
Hurry. Please hurry.

Son of a bitch! Kane focused every fiber of his soul on her voice, and his entire existence zoomed in on those two words, on her voice, on her spirit, on her very being. Then he found his target. He knew where she was.
I’m coming.

Kane didn’t hesitate. He didn’t pause to question his motives or ascertain what he was heading into. He didn’t even take the time to grab his teammate and take Ryland with him. He just locked onto her location and dematerialized, using her desperation as his only guide as to where he needed to be.

(Birch Crossing Series, Book One)

(contemporary small-town romance, available Summer 2012)

Ducking her head against the raging storm, Clare hugged herself while she watched the huge black pickup truck turn its headlights onto the steep hillside. She was freezing, and her muscles wouldn’t stop shaking. She was so worried about Katie, she could barely think, and she had no idea what this stranger was going to do. Something. Anything.
Please.

The truck lurched toward the hill, and she realized suddenly that he was going to drive straight up the embankment in an attempt to go above the roots and around the fallen tree that was blocking the road. But that was crazy! The mountain was way too steep. He was going to flip his truck!

Memories assaulted her, visions of when her husband had died, and she screamed, racing toward him and waving her arms. “No, don’t! Stop!”

But the truck plowed up the side of the hill, its wheels spewing mud as it fought for traction in the rain-soaked earth. She stopped, horror recoiling through her as the truck turned and skidded parallel across the hill, the left side of his truck reaching far too high up the slippery slope. Her stomach retched as she saw the truck tip further and further.

The truck was at such an extreme angle, she could see the roof now. A feathered angel was painted beneath the flood lights. An angel? What was a man like him doing with an angel on his truck?

The truck was almost vertical now. There was no way it could stay upright. It was going to flip. Crash into the tree. Careen across the road. Catapult off the cliff. He would die right in front of her. Oh, God,
he would die
.

But somehow, by a miracle that she couldn’t comprehend, the truck kept struggling forward, all four wheels still gripping the earth.

The truck was above the roots now. Was he going to make it?
Please let him make it—

The wheels slipped, and the truck dropped several yards down toward the roots. “No!” She took a useless, powerless step as the tires caught on the roots. The tires spun out in the mud, and the roots ripped across the side of the vehicle with a furious scream.

“Go,” she shouted, clenching her firsts. “Go!”

He gunned the engine, and suddenly the tires caught. The truck leapt forward, careening sideways across the hill, skidding back and forth as the mud spewed. He made it past the tree, and then the truck plowed back down toward the road, sliding and rolling as he fought for control.

Clare held her hand over her mouth, terrified that at any moment one of his tires would catch on a root and he’d flip. “Please make it, please make it, please make it,” she whispered over and over again.

The truck bounced high over a gully, and she gasped when it flew up so high she could see the undercarriage. Then somehow, someway, he wrested the truck back to four wheels, spun out into the road and stopped, its wipers pounding furiously against the rain as the floodlights poured hope into the night.

Oh, dear God. He’d made it. He hadn’t died.

Clare gripped her chest against the tightness in her lungs. Her hands were shaking, her legs were weak. She needed to sit down. To recover.

But there was no time. The driver’s door opened and out he stepped. Standing behind the range of his floodlights, he was silhouetted against the darkness, his shoulders so wide and dominating he looked like the dark earth itself had brought him to life.

Something inside her leapt with hope at the sight of him, at the sheer, raw strength of his body as he came toward her. This man, this stranger, he was enough. He could help her. Sudden tears burned in her eyes as she finally realized she didn’t have to fight this battle by herself.

He held up his hand to tell her to stay, then he slogged over to the front of his truck. He hooked something to the winch, then headed over to the tree. The trunk came almost to his chest, but he locked his grip around a wet branch for leverage, and then vaulted over with effortless grace, landing in the mud with a splash. “Come here,” he shouted over the wind.

Clare ran across the muck toward him, stumbling in the slippery footing. “You’re crazy!” she shouted, shielding her eyes against the bright floodlights from his truck. But God, she’d never been so happy to see crazy in her life.

“Probably,” he yelled back, flashing her a cheeky grin. His perfect white teeth seemed to light up his face, a cheerful confident smile that felt so incongruous in the raging storm and daunting circumstances.

But his cockiness eased her panic, and that was such a gift. It made her able to at least think rationally. She would take all the positive vibes she could get right now.

He held up a nylon harness that was hooked to the steel cord attached to his truck. “If the tree goes over, this will keep you from going over.”