White Fire: Timewalker Chronicles, Book 5 (5 page)

Quickly, she looked down at her clothes, at her boots.

“None of their filth touched you. I was very careful not to touch your flesh.”

“You’re pretty considerate, for a Hunter.”

He bowed, the gesture one of obvious self-mockery. “And now, you must return the favor, before I lose control of myself.”

“What’s the favor?”

“I need you to lock me in a cage and then cut off my head.”

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Ajax watched the peculiar female’s expression change from curiosity to disbelief, to fear.

She was right to be afraid. He held on to his control by a thread. He’d watched her sleep for hours, studied the rise and fall of her breasts, the soft lines of her face next to the yellow roses that floated like soft promises stitched into her bedding.

She’d looked like an angel. He’d reached out five times to touch her skin, to suck her soul dry and leave her just one more pile of ash in the apartment. The monster inside him raged to be fed, insisted that she would be delicate and sweet to his battered senses, a breath of light on his shattered soul. An angel in his personal darkness.

But each time he’d seen the dark stone of his hand approach her innocent face, he’d pulled back.

The beast inside would have to subsist on his enemies. He may have lost himself to the dark, but he would not take her with him, he would not pull an innocent, delicate female into hell.

He’d shed the monsters’ ash, unable to bear the touch of their corruption against his flesh. He’d held the sword across his lap, a reminder to keep his distance from temptation. And he’d realized that there was only one option left.

If he went out into the world like this, he would feed the beast. He’d consume more souls and leave a trail of ash in his wake. Human? Immortal? Triscani? It wouldn’t matter to him. Not once he started.

He was blood bonded to his two closest friends, half-blood brothers, Teagh and Bran. If he died, they did too, and they were good men.

And, as he’d proven again last night, no Triscani could break his will. If turned loose to feed the hunger, he’d be unstoppable. A monster without equal. The worst fear the Itaran Queen could have ever imagined. The reason male children were forbidden in his family line. The reason he’d been born a forbidden son.

He’d kill them all.

Unless she stopped him. Unless she helped him return to his cage. Right now.

“You’re insane.”

“Yes.”

That brought her up short. “Yes? That’s your answer?”

“Yes. If you do not come with me, if you do not help me now, I will be responsible for more death than you can imagine.” He wouldn’t lie or pretend that he wasn’t a monster. He stood before her, completely naked, and told her the absolute truth. “I am Ajax, the Lost King of the Immortals. If you do not stop me, here, now, there is no one in all the three kingdoms who will be capable of it.”

“Ajax? Your name is Ajax?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God.” His sword fell from her loose fingers onto the floor, useless, beside her. “You can’t be one of them. You can’t.”

“I am what I am, human.”

“You can’t be. Is there some way to reverse the process? To get back to normal?” She took a step toward him. Stopped. “Oh, God. You were in the bar last night.”

“Yes. I saw you there. I believed the Hunters were tracking me. But they were following you. Why?” He studied her, wondered why she wasn’t screaming, where she’d summoned the courage to face down three Hunters last night. Why Eli had shot her with poison, instead of just grabbing her. The other Hunters, he understood, if they’d touched her, their hunger would have been too powerful to control. But not Eli. That bastard had been around for centuries even before Ajax had lost his Queen. He would have been able to touch her and not lose himself in madness.

“Hello? Did you hear me? Isn’t there some way to reverse this? Turn you back to normal?”

Ajax crossed his arms across his massive chest. “No. My men have already tried to save me. They planted a soul stone in my chest, a stone meant to draw the evil from my body and give it back to the goddess. But it remains dead and cold within, a useless rock.” He kept his fist tightly closed around the one stone that kept him sane, that kept him from devouring her freshness and beauty. “They draw the taint from me slowly, but they cannot drink an ocean of darkness. It is not enough. It was never enough.”

She studied him, his crossed arms and warrior’s stance. Her attention danced over his cock and he raised an eyebrow when she tore her gaze away and blushed. He had no shame and no modesty. He was power incarnate, a King among men. There was not an ounce of humility in his breast. He simply waited for her decision. Life or death. Do as he’d asked, or pay the consequences.

She raised her hands to her face and moaned before her fingers walked up her forehead to her hair. There, they tangled with the odd collection of sticky paper and pins she’d used to keep her real hair tamed beneath the false last night.

“Oh, God. I can’t believe this.” She turned her back on him and threw her hands in the air. She took three steps to a chest and yanked fiercely at her head, pulling the pins and paper from the dark locks, placing the remains of her disguise on the top of the dresser. She bent forward, toward the mirror, and put her fingers directly into her eyes. She removed something from them and tossed the remains into a container on the floor, mumbling about dry eyes and wondering how long she’d been out.

“Fifteen hours, seven minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

“What?” She lifted a strange bottle to her face and tilted her head back, placing droplets of clear liquid into each orb.

“You wanted to know how long you were unconscious.” He didn’t move, couldn’t move, was rooted to the spot like a giant oak watching her strange rituals.

She turned back to the mirror, pulled a small white cloth from a rectangular box, and wiped the excess liquid from her eyes. The female rubbed a little harder beneath one to remove the black remains of whatever she had used to outline her eyes and seduce the human bartender the previous night. Then she tugged a brush through her hair.

What was she doing? Grooming herself while he stood naked and fought the urge to kill her, while he waited for her to answer his humbling and singular request for aid? He’d not asked another soul for help since he’d been a babe barely weaned from his mother’s breast. This female turned her back on him while he held a portal open and stood before her baring his dark soul, a god among men? And she was brushing her fucking hair?

“Who are you, human?” She made no sense. She’d stood between two Triscani Hunters without flinching, spoken to Eli with no fear in her voice, had supposedly eliminated seven Hunters, and now ignored a King as if he were not even there.

She turned around and he felt the punch of her blue eyes all the way to his spleen.

“My name is Emma.” She looked shy now, like a newly born fawn taking its first steps in the forest. “Ring any bells?”

“I hear no bells.”

She sighed and tried again. “Do you recognize my name?”

“No.”

Her shoulders slumped and she frowned. “But what about your destiny? Your beloved Queen?”

It was his turn to frown. “My Queen was Angeline. And she is lost to me.”

“Angeline?”

He nodded.

“You’re Marked Mate’s name is Angeline?”

“Yes.”

“What does she look like?”

Ajax thought of his beloved. “Her hair was black silk, her eyes like glowing amber, tall and…”

“Stop.” Emma raised her hand to him, palm out, as if that small act would halt his ability to speak. She looked hurt, then angry. “Close that stupid portal. Put some clothes on. Seriously. I’m not cutting off your head.”

She marched past him and out her bedroom door. Her clipped words echoed from the white walls of her apartment as she stomped her way through the hall. “Stupid Bran. This is bullshit. My whole life. I can’t believe I saved myself for him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

Chapter Four

Emma finished up in the bathroom, the sparkle of minty toothpaste fresh on her tongue, and then headed for the one place she knew would keep her sane, her kitchen. She grabbed her favorite omelet pan and set it on the stove. Eggs. Onions. Cheese. Parsley… She gathered ingredients from the inside of her black refrigerator like a worker ant on a mission. Her small kitchen was L-shaped, the cabinets up top white, brown below, and black appliances. It was like whoever had decorated the place couldn’t make up their mind. None of it matched the oak hardwood under her feet. A jigsaw puzzle where none of the pieces fit. Kind of like her life.

Whatever.

She glanced at the clock on her microwave and sighed. At least he hadn’t lied about that. It was a few minutes after noon. Fifteen hours sounded about right.

Tears burned behind her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall. Yes, she wanted to cry. And scream. And beat that idiot in her bedroom with a frying pan. No, not him. It wasn’t his fault that Bran had spoon fed her bullshit her entire life, or that she’d swallowed every bite, dedicated her life to fulfilling his vision for her, sacrificed her own desires and dreams to serve this great preordained destiny. Hell, she’d buried her dreams so deep she wasn’t even sure what they were anymore.

Ajax’s Marked Mate? Future Queen? The one woman alive who was destined to be that big, black beast’s one true love? Hah!

He had no idea who she was. There was no spark of recognition. No zing in his system. No desire in his eyes when he looked at her. No interest in her at all, other than as a means to an end. He needed her to help him kill himself.

No freaking way. Big boy Bran could do that. She’d eat, then she’d break down and call that lying asshat. She could use telepathy, but then he’d know where she was, and she’d lose her only bargaining chip. No, she’d call him with a disposable cell phone and then make darn sure she was gone before he arrived. Bran could just come get his big, bad King. He could cut off the stupid Immortal’s head. She wouldn’t do it.

She couldn’t.

First, the thought repulsed her. But second, despite it all, she wanted him. Her body was lit up like a firecracker on the fourth of July. He was black as tar, claimed by the darkness, a freaking Hunter, and all she could think about when she looked at him was tasting him, getting him in her bed and letting him rub that giant body all over every single bit of her skin. Kissing him. Digging her hands into that hair and tugging his head to her breast…or lower.

“Stupid.” She banged the bowl down on her countertop and started cracking eggs. The first one exploded in her hand and she braced her palms on the counter to take two deep breaths. She could do this. She could cope. So, Bran’s fantasy filled version of her personal Prince Charming was a lie. She would move on. At least she could find someone else now, another man. Finally she could look for a man to have sex with and not feel like she was cheating on a ghost.

“What are you doing? And how do you know Bran?” Ajax stood in the hallway. He’d put some form of undergarment back on that looked like a knee-length version of black stretchy shorts. Thank God. Because she could not deal with him naked another second. He had his sword strapped to his back, just barely peaking over his shoulder where she could see the tip of the hilt. His hands were in fists at his side, and he didn’t look happy. Well, he could just join the freaking club.

Spandex and steel. Bare feet. His nude chest and shoulders godlike. He looked like a ripped professional athlete made of black glass. All power, no bend.

She had an alien Immortal King in her kitchen, and he looked like a character out of a bad comic book. The whole look should have been laughable instead of sexy. Really. Which just proved how messed up she was in the head. She kept her mouth shut about it and answered one of his questions. “I’m cooking. Do you want an omelet?”

“Why are you cooking?”

“Sit down.” She nodded at the tiny two-man table she used to eat her meals.

“Emma? I don’t have time for this.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled up from her throat. No time? Was he fucking kidding right now? “We’ve got an eternity. Trust me.” She dropped the remains of the broken egg in her sink and reached for another. “Sit down. I need to cook breakfast. Then we’ll figure out the next step.”

“We should leave. Why are you cooking?”

“So I don’t cry.”

He appeared to have no answer for that. “Listen, human, you will come with me through the portal and…”

She’d had it. “Stop. Talking.” She cracked open her sixth egg with laser-like precision, looked at the size of his chest and cracked too more. “I’m pissed off at you right now. I know it’s not your fault, but I’m still pissed. So just sit there and let me cook, or try to kill me. Right this second, I don’t really care which. I can feed you, or I can fry you. Your call.”

He sat. Thank God. He sat in silence, his gaze boring holes in her back as she ignored him and continued moving around her kitchen. She made them both an omelet, his double the size of hers, and poured two glasses of orange juice. She placed everything on the table and sat down to eat.