Dawn of a Dark Knight (11 page)

A petite, willowy teenager stood in the dimly lit doorway. She was breathtaking in a budding beauty way. Something shifted in his gut, igniting an unfamiliar possessive instinct.

She whispered, “You’ve got to get out of here.”

With a hiss, his breath released. He hadn’t spoken in weeks, unwilling to give his tormentors the satisfaction of vocalizing a single cry. Without breaking his stare, he whispered in a hoarse voice, “Can’t walk. Impossible to get free.”

“I can help you, but we’ve got to hurry.”

What miracle did she hide beneath the baggy T-shirt and jeans? Beyond that, why would she offer to help him? Warning bells screeched in his mind.
New bullshit.
Another trap bound to lead to hours of humiliation and pain.

He watched her creep close and even though he didn’t trust her, he recognized this took guts. When her flashlight illuminated her face, her striking eyes distracted his fatigued mind. Each iris had a center of pale green ringed with blue. Long dark eyelashes curled against skin so pale and flawless it practically glowed.

She halted less than an arm’s length from him staring in obvious uncertainty. His gaze followed hers to his grossly swollen right hand, which had been bitten over twenty times by various venomous snakes today. It tremored from pain. Infuriated by its betrayal, he willed it to stop.

Angrily, he glared, daring her to comment on his weakness. Her eyes lost their fear when they connected with his. Yet there was no pity in their depths. They reflected the wisdom of an empathy that confused him.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I’m not one of them. I won’t hurt you. You’ll have to trust me.” As she bent toward him, unruly black curls tickled his skin and hid her face from view.

The second her hand touched his bare arm a wave of foreign energy punched through him. His body arched off the table and then relaxed as warmth suffused him. All pain vanished. He felt the insignia at the center of his chest heat.

Whoa.
This beautiful creature was healing him?

Way earlier than he wanted, the soothing sensation vanished. She unlatched the metal restraints around his arms, legs, and neck.

In a quick flash, Ashor grabbed her hands. When he rolled over her right arm, his mind stalled. A triangle mark identical to the one on his chest glowed on the smooth skin of her wrist. The sigil disappeared within seconds.
Not possible.

Maybe all the Hashishin poison of the past few weeks had fried his brain. Or he was so weak from blood loss that he hallucinated that little light show on her wrist. How could this girl have the mark of the
akhrian
? She had talent. No doubt. But a girl? That he’d never heard of.

He released her wrist.

“Feel any better?” she asked, stepping away from him.

He nodded. The perpetual pain he’d felt for weeks was diminished. The newest injuries were improved, but not entirely healed. As he stood, the dizziness was back. He staggered to a lean against the metal table and cradled his head in a hand.

“I’m sorry I’m not good enough to fix all of you.”

“You’ve helped.” His grateful gaze met her uncertain smile.

“Hurry.” She clasped his hand and tugged in the direction of the door, forgetting the not-entirely-healed viper strikes.

He yanked the damaged hand out of her grasp with a hiss and bit his lip against pain that almost dropped him to his knees. Blood flooded his mouth.

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be fine,” he gritted out. “Let’s get out of here.”

She led in the direction away from the stairs, the way he assumed to be the exit. His feet rooted and he turned toward the stairs.

She whispered, “No stairs. There’s a tunnel. It stinks, but it’ll get us out.”

His weakness after weeks of blood loss made their progress slow. For over twenty minutes, she led in silence through a damp tunnel lit only by her flashlight. With less than fifteen feet to the tunnel’s exit, Ashor stumbled past her toward the light of dawn that represented a freedom he thought he’d never see again.

“Stop! It’s not safe yet.” She grabbed his arm and crouched, indicating for him to follow. The click of the flashlight echoed in the tunnel.

As he squatted beside her, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Kira.”

“Why are you helping me?”

She held a forefinger to her lips and whispered, “Snake.”

A viper slithered past the tunnel’s entrance. The creature was as thick as a fire hose. His entire body tensed as he readied for attack. Slowly, it glided onward. He relaxed.

She pointed at the exit. “Now it’s safe. This is a drainage tunnel. You’ll see a wooded area to the right as you leave. I saw a man with a mark like yours hanging around there.” She placed a fingertip lightly on the center of his bare, bloody chest.

He stared at the delicate, pale finger in wonder as his skin tingled at the contact. “Come with me,” he requested, not entirely certain where that had come from and why he felt she belonged with him. Probably the whole
akhrian
-mark delirium thing.

“I can’t.”

“They won’t be nice, if they discover what you’ve done.” He closed her small hand in his much larger one.

“They won’t find out it was me.” She pulled her hand from his and pushed on his muscular thigh. “Please, go.”

His jaw loosened, but he stopped its drop to fly-catching position. The moment she’d touched his leg, the question she hadn’t vocalized resonated clearly in his mind. She wanted to know his name. Mind reading was not in his bag of tricks. Telepathy was only possible with his fated woman. Was the God of destiny, Shai, teasing him?

This whole episode was whacked.
Get out of here.

“You have a special power, Kira. Never let them know of your ability. Call for me, if you find yourself in danger.” He smiled at her confused frown as he rose.

Before he left, he whispered, “It’s Ashor.”

Chapter Nine

Terek broke open the manila packet containing the info on Fulford’s problems. He recognized the woman. She was a famous news correspondent that covered DC politics. The attractive blonde had a face far too perfect to be entirely natural. She was high profile without a doubt. Easy enough to eliminate.

The second target with his spiky blond hair was…Terek pulled out a magnifying glass. He laughed. He knew that lettering on the side of his neck. No mistaking the language. A magus. This one would be problematic, but then again, the guy wouldn’t form a long-term relationship with Senator Fulford’s daughter. Neither father nor daughter were likely to see him again. This paycheck didn’t have enough zeros to warrant picking a personal fight with a magus.

He reviewed the reporter’s dossier. Based on his schedule, he had one small window in the next forty-eight hours. He should send a Fedavis.

No. No delegating. He wanted the kill.

****

Kira opened her eyes, expecting her Baltimore apartment. No white popcorn foamy stuff on the ceiling. No flannel-covered duvet. This definitely wasn’t her apartment.

A warm, steel-hard body pressed tight to her left side. Her arms were trapped by whoever lay beside her. No memory of last night jumped to the forefront of her mushy mind. Had she just had a one-night stand and blocked it out? Maybe Vance got her drunk enough to end up in bed.
No, couldn’t be.
She didn’t smell his cologne.

Her chest knotted as she prepared for an awkward confrontation. With a quick glance, she took in her bed partner. Her mind slammed to an emergency halt. She did a double take.

Ashor?

One of his massive arms anchored her to him. She spent the night with him and had no memory? Unfair. Just being pressed against the harsh angles of his body kicked her body into supersensitive hyperdrive.

Her mind jolted to full awake. Bits of memory surfaced. They reassured and disappointed her that nothing remotely sexual had happened. Her last memory was of connecting to the daemon. Shock likely prevented full recall.

Don’t push,
she instructed herself. The details will resurface.

Her mind hated not having info and pushed anyway. Her reward was a head pounder like someone shoved a metal spike through her right eye.

For what seemed like an hour, she stared at the ceiling, waiting for the migraine to dull. When coherent pain-free thought was possible, she realized what she’d revealed of herself in the past twenty-four hours spelled disaster with a capital D. Fear took a front row seat. Now that the magi knew about her, they would undoubtedly want to keep her. Who wouldn’t want an exorcist in residence?

On the other hand, the Hashishins…they had been at the hospital. They’d figure out who woke their magi targets. That wasn’t hard since the whole place was on candid camera. She intended to avoid becoming a Hashishin acquisition at all costs.

Time to leave, especially before Ashor came around. And threw the you’re-staying-or-else speech at her.

With great care, she rolled out of the confining arm. For a few seconds, she held her breath and sat still as stone. He didn’t stir. She dangled her feet over the edge of the bed and glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. She needed a better look. Just one more little glimpse before she left.

Fuel for future dreams
, she rationalized.

His bared upper body muscles were sculpted sharper than an Olympic swimmer. His energy felt normal with no evil residue. His breathing was regular, that of a deep slumber. A beautifully stylized tattoo spiraled down his shoulder.

She smoothed a timid hand over his long, black hair that fell unbound just beyond his shoulders.

Bolstered by his lack of response, she touched his hand and was surprised to discover its size was more that twice her own. A smile touched her lips. As if bewitched, she trailed her fingers lightly over his wrist, tracing an artistic dark blue tat. A low-level energy emitted from his body caressed her and encouraged her to continue. Upon closer inspection, the wrist tat consisted of a woven emblem and lettering she didn’t recognize. It looked Arabic.

These magi sure do like ink,
she thought while tracing the irregular tats that littered a path up his powerfully built forearm. An intricate woven gold band firmly encircled his biceps. The piece radiated an ancient, pleasing energy. Both her hands together couldn’t close around it. Pooling need settled between her thighs as her hand moved toward the exposed magi symbol tattooed on his chest.

The second she touched the mark, raw lust speared straight to her core. Her body clenched in desperation to have him inside her. The how didn’t matter, only that it happen soon. Never had she experienced such basic need. A powerful compulsion insisted she rest her lips on that triangular tat as if that would be the start button for the sexual marathon her body demanded.

Spooked, she sprang away. The fire didn’t quell. Everything ached in desperate need for this sleeping, imaginary man made real. Her body had never reacted to any man like this.

He wasn’t just a man, she reminded herself, but a magus. A sorcerer-like, immortal being that fought daemons. A being whose goal was to enslave her into a life of dealing with weird crap like that daemon exorcism on a regular basis. And being in the line of fire from Hashishins.

No way was she volunteering for that.

She gazed at him once more and shivered. He wasn’t just gorgeous. He was deadly and physically intimidating as hell.

Thank God, he’s asleep.
She didn’t have enough experience to deal with anyone like him awake. She also had no wish to get sucked any further into the magi world. Time to get out of here.

Her watch read a little after ten a.m. Too late to drive back to Baltimore in time to catch her scheduled flight. She’d have to fly. Getting on a plane without ID was going to require she to take out her contacts and try a little enthrallment. Several times in order to get through the airport—ticket, security, boarding. Not her ideal, but it wasn’t like everyone she’d been trying to hide from didn’t already know about her at this point.

Through half-mast lids and a shitload of drowsy, Ashor watched Kira stagger away from the bed. His body burned with a lust that scorched an unmerciful, savage need. His skin crawled with it and his head pounded.

Ashor lived with the truth of himself. He knew his strengths, weaknesses, and the
kem-seki
darkness he fought. And yet, this need shook him.

He ignored the impulse to get her as naked as he was beneath the sheets. He wanted to bend her over backward and reenact that fantasy she tormented him with three weeks ago.

First and foremost, though, she wasn’t allowed to leave. Horus had ordered him to bring her here. The
akhrian.
That meant forcing her to stay was the right thing to do.

Kira leaned down to swipe her hair band from the floor, giving him a perfect view of her taut hind end and slender calves in that ridiculously conservative black skirt. He swallowed a groan as desire spiked through his already painfully aroused body. She replaced her functional black pumps and turned his way. He slammed his lids closed and faked deep, measured breaths.

She whispered, “Take care, Ashor. I’m glad I could help, but I can’t stay. Please don’t suck me into all this. I just…can’t.”

The order that she stay died in his throat.

****

“You let her leave? I mean, what the hell?” Eric tossed at Ashor as he entered his bedroom a few minutes after Kira departed.

Viktor rested his large body against the doorframe and ran his hand repeatedly over his shaved head.

“Her choice.” Ashor shrugged, deceptively apathetic. He snagged a water bottle off the nightstand. While taking a generous swig, he tried to contain the savage arousal still whipping through his body. A quick forearm inspection showed three new, dark blue, stylized sigils inked over the healed Hashishin lacerations. That was the symbol of mystical healing. The kind only the
akhrian
could do.

“She’s got the
akhrian
mark
on her wrist, but doesn’t seem aware of it,” Eric said.