Beautiful Warrior (2 page)

“These parts are a hallucination.”

“Then make it stop. Make him stop.”

“I can’t.”  I didn’t have that ki
nd of control over my illness.

“Then suck it up, ‘cause here he comes.”

Holy hell. Seven was right. The warrior burst through the rain in a mass of masculine power and primitive grace. Astride his midnight mount, he took one look at the drowned rats standing in front of him and brought the animal to a prancing halt. The horse snorted and pawed the wet ground.

The warrior wasn’t wearing war paint
. He wasn’t wearing much of anything. His chest was bare, and his pants were made of buckskin, like one might expect a movie Indian to wear. Attached at his waist was a bone-handled knife, the rawhide sheath decorated in what I assumed was a traditional manner, with a painted design forming a geometric pattern.

He looked exactly like Duncan, with his exotic-shaped eyes, killer cheekbones, and shoulder-length brown hair
. Oddly enough, the rain wasn’t making him wet. It parted like the Red Sea, falling around him, but not on him.

In this world, he was officially known as
the dark warrior because of his deeply tanned complexion, coupled with the big black stallion he rode. He didn’t hail from a specific tribe. His roots were universal, with a bit of every Nation running through his blood.

Truthfully,
I wasn’t versed in Native history or culture or anything of the sort. Duncan was Native American, but he didn’t know what tribe he was from. He had no memory of his past, aside from being alone and afraid and living on the streets as a boy. But I couldn’t concentrate on that right now, not while the warrior was piercing me with his feral gaze.

Because he made me feel sexual, I crossed my arms
over my chest and covered my top, which was soaked and clinging to my itty-bitty breasts. No doubt my bra was visible through the pale fabric.

He watched me with a keen eye, much in the way a ha
wk zeroed in on its prey, right before it swooped down.

And
attacked.

Chapter Two

He didn’t attack
. He didn’t reach down and grab me. But between the two of us, a sizzling sense of hunger sparked the air. I kept my hands pressed against my shirt, struggling not to melt or squirm or panic under his scrutiny. Because this was where my attachment to him got even more complicated.

When I was
thirteen and Abby was twelve, she’d asked me to create a warrior to protect her people. Against my better judgment, I’d agreed, not understanding then that I was the sister who was ill. Over the years, I kept insisting that he would never show up. That he would never be real. Then recently, I met Duncan, a true-life guy who fit my description of the warrior. Duncan didn’t think it was as odd as it sounded. To him, it was simply one of those cosmic things, where we were destined to know each other. But for me, the warrior aspect put a troubling spin on it. When I’d created him, I’d also cursed him to die at the beautiful young age of twenty-one, and now I feared that the real Duncan was going die if I didn’t find a magical cure to break the curse before his next birthday.

To a healthy-minded p
erson, that would probably seem ridiculous, but to someone like me, it was all-consuming.

Seven nudged me,
trying to urge me to speak up, to explain who we were. But I just stood there, staring up at the warrior while he stared down at me.

He was, by far, the most intimidating man I’d ever seen
. To keep my knees from knocking, I reminded myself that I was his creator, and even though I’d created him to be bold and fierce, I’d given him a gentle side, too.

I just wished that he would show it.

Time ticked by. Seconds. Minutes.

More rain
. More fear. Even dusk was beginning to rear its murky head, veiling the sky with a lethal hush. Being in Room 105 was like being in the midst of a graphic novel where everything was going awry.

“We need y
our help.” Seven finally took the initiative to start the conversation, his voice shattering the silence.

The
warrior shifted his attention away from me, honing in on my companion instead, and I thought about Seven’s goofy song and how he wasn’t singing it now.

Seven
hurriedly continued. “I need you to protect me from the border monsters. If I attempt to cross the border and leave Room 105, they’ll try to kill me.”

The warrior angled his head, as
if weighing the importance of the request. Then he looked at me again.

Dead on
. Like a magnet to metal.

“Are you
also in line to be killed?” he asked, his tone as powerful as his gaze.

I meant to respond, but
I couldn’t seem to find my voice. I noticed that he had the same tribal markings on his wrists as Duncan. Mostly the tattoos consisted of arrows, in various patterns, but there were squiggly lines, too, symbolizing snakes. In the real world, snakes were significant to Duncan, representing his sexuality.

“
Are you in danger of dying?” he asked me again.

I cleared my throat, forcin
g myself to speak. “The monsters aren’t targeting me.”

“Then what is your purpose?”

“I’m trying to help Seven get his situation resolved. He’s in love with my sister, and if he isn’t able to return to her, her heart will be broken and she’ll disappear into a big black hole. Then I’ll lose her forever, too.”  I didn’t see how it was possible to go on without Abby. Not for me or for Seven.

The warrior studied me
, his mount dancing beneath its reins. Did he think love was a worthy cause or a waste of emotion? It was tough to say, but as far as I knew, my dearest Duncan, the guy I desperately loved, wasn’t capable of those types of feelings. Yet here I was a schizoid mess, without any trouble in that regard.

“
I require payment for my services,” the warrior said, cutting into my scattered thoughts.

“What kind of payment?”
I asked.

“I’ll take you
.”

“Me?” I eked out, as
Seven lolled an I-told-you-so glance my way.

“
In my bed,” the warrior clarified. “For one night.” 

Because I didn’t know what else to do, I
tried to play coy. “That’s all you want? Just one night?”

A smile tugged
ever so slightly at his lips. The only thing I’d managed to do was amuse him. How I must look to him, still clutching my arms across my chest, with rainwater splashing down my face.

I dropped my hands to my sides. “You won’t be my first,” I said, making sure he knew that I wasn’t a virgin. Duncan had already popped my sweet little cherry.

“Then why are you so afraid?”
he asked.

“I’m not,” I lied
. To prove my point, I inched toward him. My feet were so wet and cold, I could barely move them. My teeth were on the verge of chattering, too.

The warrior
didn’t react, but his stallion did, its nostrils flaring. Was it getting a strong, steady whiff of my fear and calling my bluff?

Just then, the thunder and lightning I’d wondered about
earlier took center stage, cracking across the sky like a whip. I did my damnedest not to flinch. But I failed, shaking all the way to my bones.

Th
e warrior extended his arm. I reached out, and he pulled me up and onto the back of his horse. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his naked torso. The rain no longer fell upon me now that I was in his company. But the damage had already been done, my wet clothes sticking to my skin.

As he turned his mount in the direction of his home
, I glanced back at Seven. The psychic shot me a quick wave, telling me that he would see me tomorrow.

Then
zoom
…

The warrior sped off, deeper into the forest, with me hanging on
for dear life. I’d never been on a horse before. Duncan wasn’t a horseman, either. At least not that he recalled. But he’d still painted himself in the kick-ass company of a big black stallion.

As I clung to the man steering me into his
dark-cloaked world, I glanced out at the rain and the way the water arced around us. Everything was so incredibly vivid and lifelike. But as crazy as I was, I understood the difference between reality and fantasy.

Or so I kept telling myself
.

We arrived swiftly at our destination
. I recognized the warrior’s home from Duncan’s painting, except it wasn’t quite as primitive as it had been in his artwork. The tiny hut he’d painted was now a well-constructed cabin. I had no idea why my mind had changed it. Maybe for my own comfort and well-being?

Either way,
the painting was entitled
Danger
, and that still seemed to fit.

He
dismounted, then scooped me off the horse. My legs wobbled as they touched the ground, and I teetered toward him. He grabbed my shoulders to steady me, and our gazes locked.

I brok
e eye contact first, needing to catch my breath.

Together, we went inside
. His residence featured one large room, equipped with an oak-framed bed and a straw-stuffed mattress. The coverlet was made of animal skins. Another stack of furry blankets was piled in a corner. A split log table and a couple of straight-back chairs provided a place to sit. A fire was already burning in the fireplace, with a pot of something or other simmering above the flame.

Struggling
to keep my nerves in check, I inhaled the home-spiced aroma. Then I turned and caught him watching me in that perilous way of his.

“Remove your clothes,” he said
.

I gulped my next breath
. I wasn’t a stranger to undressing in front of Duncan. The first time we made love, I’d seduced him, stripping off the smart little outfit I’d worn. But this was different. I wasn’t ready.

“I need more time,” I said.

“
For what? Your clothes are damp and you need to dry off.”  He lifted a blanket from the floor and tossed it to me. “You can use this. Then we can eat.”

Oh, thank goodness
. He was going to feed me before he fucked me. I clutched the fur. At least I had something to cover myself with at the table.

There was no way for me to disrobe without him watching, and that was obviously what he
intended to do. He stood on the other side of the room, his gaze trained on me, the glow from the fire dancing across his bronzed skin.

My heart oozed all over itself
. He was about as beautiful as a man could get. If only I hadn’t cursed him to die.

Him and Duncan.

He shifted his stance, waiting for me to shed my clothes, and I set the blanket on a chair, keeping it handy. As soon as I was bare, I was going to snatch it back up again.

I started with
my makeshift footwear, untying the soggy swatches. After that, I reached for the hem of my top and peeled the garment over my head. Next, I worked my jeans down. I moved quickly, otherwise it would have turned into a painfully slow striptease, with me being the seductress I wasn’t ready to be.

Attire
d in only a beige bra and floral-printed panties, I glanced at the warrior, and my nerves kicked up a notch. With his unwavering gaze, he scanned the length of me, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He looked as if he wanted to mount me in the same ravenous way his stallion would mate with a mare.

Instead of removing my undergarments, I hastily dried my hair, then my body, then draped the blanket over my shoulders.

He came forward, picked up my rain-spattered clothes and spread them out near the fire.

I thought about the bonfire Duncan and I had shared at the
beach a few weeks ago, roasting marshmallows and looking up at the stars. That had been a complicated night, too. Mostly everything I’d experienced so far with Duncan was rather jumbled. He knew that I was ill, but he had no idea that I was in love with him.

The warrior dished up the food and motioned for me to join him at the table
. Still wrapped in the fur covering, I sat across from him. He handed me a wooden spoon, and I indulged in the meal he’d made, which turned out to be a hearty rabbit stew. I’d never had rabbit before. I’d never had anything but beef, pork, and poultry from the supermarket. I did, however, know a bit about gardening, and the root vegetables he’d used were comfortably familiar. He also gave me a canteen-style container of water. I had no idea what type of water source he was using. A stream, perhaps? My frazzled little mind hadn’t worked out the details, but it was refreshing, just the same.

We ate quietl
y, the fire crackling behind us. I considered telling him the rest of my story, more about who I was and how’d I cursed him to die, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Not now, not while he was looking at me with soul-clawing hunger in his eyes.

He
spooned up another mouthful, and I watched him eat, thinking about the first time Duncan had kissed me. It had taken place at an Italian restaurant. We’d been side-by-side in a small corner booth, nibbling on appetizers, when he’d leaned forward and put his luscious lips against mine.

Would the warrior kiss me before he took me to bed
? Or would he wait until I was sprawled naked beneath him, damp tendrils of my hair tangled around his fingers?

Feeling shy and sensual and everything in
between, my skin tingled from the thought. He’d yet to take his eyes off me.

To keep the
silence at bay, I said, “The food is good. Thank you for offering it to me.”

“I don’t get many visitors.
”

“People are probably afraid of you.”
 

“The way you are?”

I didn’t dispute it, not this time. My heart was pounding too hard to pretend otherwise. But I considered, once again, if I should tell him who I really was.

“I shouldn’t let you affect me this way,” I said
. “Especially since I…”

“You what?”

“Am the person who created you.”

He paused mid-bite, staring at me as if I’d gone mad
. Little did he know it was too late for that.

I forged ahead
. “Everyone in Room 105 was created by someone on earth.”

“Yes, I know
,” he replied impatiently. But in spite of what he knew, he obviously didn’t think that a waifish girl like me was capable of creating a big tough guy like himself.

I straightened my spine, tr
ying to look taller and more confident than I was. “I was thirteen when my sister asked me to create a warrior to protect Seven and the rest of her people.”

He didn’t seem convinced
. “How can you be sure that warrior is me?”

“Because
years later, I met Duncan, who is the exact image of you.”  I went on to explain that my lover looked just like him.