“Okay, that’s reasonable answer. But, shit, we need you.”
“I know that,” he said quietly.
“When did this power emerge?” Endelle asked.
His gaze shifted away from her, away from all of them. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to remember.
He took a deep breath. “While I was hanging from ropes in that prison cell in Honduras Two. That’s one reason I’ve never trusted this power. It’s dark, it came from my hatred of my torturers.” Endelle shook her head a couple of times. “Listen up, warrior.” She angled her thumb toward Jean-Pierre. “You need to put yourself in JP’s hands, and start trusting some of the What-Bees, that maybe they’d be able to handle this dark- ass power of yours and help you gain control of the rest of it.” He opened his mouth to argue with her, but she shushed him. “Ch-ch-ch! Not a word, ass**le. You’ve been holding out and we’re all pissed as hell. We’ve got a full-blown war on our hands and the Borderlands have expanded with activity every goddamn night. So, this isn’t a discussion. You will work with Jean- Pierre and you will like it. Do we understand each other?” He nodded. “Yes, Madame Endelle.”
“Good. Now someone tell him about Duncan. I’m outta here.” She lifted her arm, and much to everyone’s dismay she folded straight out of room, which set the alarms shrieking. Luken already had his phone to his ear and a few seconds later, the alarms shut down. No one folded in or out of Militia HQ, without express permission, except by way of the multiple landing platforms.
Once his ears stopped ringing, he focused his attention on Luken. “What about Duncan?” The warrior was one of Samuel’s few good friends and had helped him to escape his captivity a year ago.
Luken met his gaze squarely.
“Duncan’s missing. We don’t know where he is, or what happened to him. He disappeared while battling at the New River Borderland two nights ago. There’d been so many teams folding in and out of the space that it took almost twenty-four hours before we concluded he’s now MIA.”
“What?” Samuel’s chest tightened.
“But how the f**k is that possible?” Duncan was an extremely powerful Militia Warrior and one of two dozen who had been working with Jean-Pierre to bring his What-Bee powers on line. In recent weeks, Duncan had confided that he’d been having visions, similar to those Elise Jordan experience, but he’d know more in the coming months.
Samuel hadn’t seen him in over a week since Duncan’s responsibilities as a Section Leader for the Thunder God Warriors kept him damn busy. Samuel had never been much for socializing in any significant way, preferring battle and clubbing, but he considered Duncan a good friend who had helped keep him sane during the past year, as he adjusted to his return to Militia Warrior service.
He was just about to ask what he could do to help, when that scent came to him again, this time much stronger, a river of fragrance that started wrapping around him. He even turned in the direction of the risers, though uncertain why.
He sniffed the air, and drew more of the flowery scent into his nostrils, which in turn invaded his brain. A strange dizziness descended.
What the hell was that?
Chapter Two
Vela’s gaze had narrowed to a fine point that encompassed the warrior from her nightmare who had saved Santiago, the one called Samuel, the one now turned in the direction of the risers, a furrow between his brows as he scanned the crowd.
From the time he had passed by the risers, some kind of ascended knowing had possessed her, as though she already knew this man. He looked made for war in battle gear, and whether he realized it or not, he had a Warrior of the Blood thing going on with his black hair long and bound in a leather strap. He had moved like war and grace combined, a lethal fluid stride surrounded by a dark aura, and her body had bloomed for him.
“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Donna whispered.
Vela couldn’t respond. She wanted to, she wanted to expound on Donna’s theme, but her vocal chords wouldn’t work.
The strangest part of all, however, was that she swore she could smell him, that a stream of something warm, male, and wonderfully bitter like dark chocolate, emanated from him.
The scent filtered through her nostrils and began to drift into other parts of her body. Her thoughts funneled down farther to the warrior as though nothing else in this room existed and when his searching gaze found her, something really strange happened: she heard his thoughts like a soft whisper through her mind, She’s the one. She’s mine.
She felt naked beneath his gaze, and the stream of his scent thickened as he took several steps toward the risers. Her lips parted and she shifted in her seat like she couldn’t get comfortable. Her br**sts felt heavy and achy. Her ni**les beaded and pleasure descended very low until her breath hitched and the deepest part of her began long hard pulls on something that wasn’t there, but needed to be there, the sooner the better.
She felt bathed in pleasure and all she’d done was catch Samuel Daman’s scent and meet his gaze.
You’re mine. Samuel sent the thought again, straight at the woman in the risers, the one with a mass of wild, long blond hair, and large blue eyes.
A wave of her delicate floral scent hit him, and his breath caught. Her perfume affected the nerves in his body.
Streaks of lightning shot down his arms and legs, firing up his muscles. His neck grew almost rigid. His back started to arch and harsh sounds formed in his throat. He felt his dark power rise, and his mist started to swirl around him.
He took another deep breath through his nostrils. The perfume wafted in, and a new fire lit up his brain. He had to get to this woman.
She stood up and reached a hand toward him.
His vision tunneled down to the tips of those fingers. What happened next became a blur. He ran or levitated or partially folded to her position, he wasn’t sure, then grabbed her and pulled her out of the crowd, holding her against him and hauling her off the risers.
The alarms started shrieking as did several of the ascenders in the risers, though he didn’t know why.
A thundering followed.
Maybe he heard Luken’s voice.
HQ must be under attack, though he didn’t see the enemy, just the room moving in a strange way.
Still holding the woman in his arms, the one he had to get to safety, had to protect with every ounce of his being, he folded her to the corner of the room behind a weightlifting machine. He released her then ordered her to hunker down. He turned around to face the room, folding his identified sword into his right hand, his dagger to his left, ready to take the enemy on, to battle ten, a hundred, a thousand death vampires if necessary to keep his woman safe.