Blindsided (43 page)

Whitesman waved his hand. “Go on, you conceited bastard. You know I can’t fire you.”

Teigan smile broadened. He knew what channels Willis had been pulling since he’d recovered. You had to admire a man who knew how to use connections. “Damn right.”

Five minutes later Teigan was in the underground labs. He zeroed in on Aria’s room, focusing on his goal and not the bare white walls. Taking no notice of the surroundings was the easiest way to survive down here, to keep from thinking about what had happened in these halls and rooms…before. He had hopes that with the new public awareness, experiments would no longer be done
on
a man, but
for
mankind. It might be an unjustified hope, but having been granted three miracles recently—Willis, Garret, and Aria—he was willing to believe anything was possible.

He reached Aria’s room, knocked on the open door. She looked up from her bed and smiled, the warmth of it reaching her hazel eyes. Another miracle at the hands of the underground labs doctors. One Whitesman would probably undue if he could.

“Hey there.”

He crossed the room, bent down, taking her mouth with his for a long sweet kiss. When he broke away they both were breathing hard. “Ready to go home, Mrs. Evans?”

She sat up, her eyes widening. “You mean that?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “That you get to go home?”

“That too, but I meant the Mrs. Evans part.”

“Do you want to be Mrs. Evans?”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He settled on the edge of the bed, taking her hand. “Do you love me, Aria?”

“Yes.” She sighed, cutting her eyes away as if she couldn’t even look at him when she admitted it. “God help me, yes.”

“Aria.” His thumb rubbed over her empty fingers. The ring had come off for the surgeries and he’d confiscated it before it could be lost. “The whole marriage thing, the ring. The set up wasn’t just for Byron.”

She sucked in her breath.

“The thing is, Aria, when I said those words I meant every one of them. I think I fell in love with you that first day I saw you. I know I did the night you knocked me flat on my ass and told me you were only going with me to beat me up in private.” He lifted her hand, placed the platinum band on her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. “I made a vow when I gave you this ring. One I’d only ever planned on giving to the love of my life. And I made that promise to you.”

“You mean it.” She sounded almost breathless. He smiled.

“I do. I want to be your husband, you my wife. I want to love you in all the ways a man can love a woman, and someday when we’re old and gray, I want to still be loving you.” He waited, but all she did was pull at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Well?”

“Was that a proposal?”

He found himself shaking his head. “If you believe in one after the fact, then yes.”

She smiled, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. “Yes. Most definitely yes.”

He helped her up, linked her arm through his and led her out into the hall. Garret was leaning against the opposite wall. After a glance at Aria’s hand he smiled, falling into line behind them.

“You’re looking well today, Mrs. Evans.”

She cocked her head over her shoulder, giving him a smile. “Why so formal?”

“You’re the boss now.” He stepped ahead of them, triggering the lift doors to open and letting them in. “Guess the old geezer thinks I’m competent enough to hire despite how much he hates me.”

She laughed, leaning into Teigan as the doors closed. A minute later they exited the building into the back lot. Willis, in full butler regalia, waited beside the silver Odyssey 360 XT. He stepped forward, taking Aria into his arms for a long hug. Teigan curled his toes in his shoes to keep from tapping his foot. Willis eventually let her go, glancing down at the ring on her finger as he did. He threw Teigan a glare. “Same rules as applies with your brother. You fuck up and I’ll gut you while you’re still alive.”

Teigan folded his arms. “You’d think, after all we’ve been through, you would at least kill me before you eviscerate me.”

Willis cocked an eyebrow, giving him a look that said, “Why? I don’t have to like you to put up with you.”

Teigan smiled, lifting his brow.
Yeah, but you do.

Willis scoffed and opened the door to the Odyssey. A bundle of black, barking fur bounded out and threw himself at Aria. Teigan immediately pushed him off. “Down boy.”

“Oh now.” Aria crouched down, making smooching noises at Frodo. “Is that any way to talk to the hero of the day?”

“Don’t worry. He and I have already worked out a payment plan for that.”

She cocked her head up toward him. “Oh? What’s that?”

Pre-Prologue

Here is a little scene that started as a short story and quickly morphed into the inspiration for the manuscript you’ve read here. It’s a little dark, but I hope you’ll appreciate a glimpse into my inner muse. Enjoy!

July 29
^th
, 2104: 2120 EST

Death marked the night. Like a black cloud promising rain, it was there, waiting. A degree away from release, it permeated the chill darkness.

The soldier was not ignorant of the forecast in the air. Hidden in the shadows of one of the great pines, he searched the forest surrounding the isolated cabin for that which hunted him. If asked to pinpoint exactly what had put him on edge, he couldn’t have explained. He was the perfect soldier: Stronger, faster… lethal. His senses were honed before birth to a heightened awareness far beyond the average man. His skill level was unparalleled by any but his brothers. All of Viadal’s boys were trained from birth for this very thing. They had been trained for death—just not their own.

But Death haunted him this night. No sight, smell, taste, or sound gave any indication of its presence, yet he could feel it down to his very bones. Like an oil slick spreading on water, the premonition of doom oozed over every pore of his skin, to be inhaled with every breath he took.

He strained his ears and caught normal sounds: a southern short tail shrew foraging for worms that would have come out with the rain, the chirp and crick of night insects, heavy plops of leftover drops that rushed down with each slight breeze—they all rang hollow and untrue. And though the heavy scents of wet bark, pine and loam were the only things that hung in the night air, his nostrils still flared as he sought to find another scent, something that was off, something to explain why he was sure death laced every breath he drew.

Long minutes crawled as he remained under the low slung branches of his pine, immobile as King Tut in his tomb, waiting. If need be he could wait all night. There’d been times he’d waited longer. Endless minutes passed. The flickering light that shone through the windows and doorway of the isolated cabin waned, until eventually the candle he’d lit before he’d come outside to scour the woods guttered and snuffed out. One word could have called up the lights—the hundred year old log structure may have looked old and rustic, but had been updated with the latest technology—but raising his voice would give away his position. Instead, he shifted out of his cover and moved in on silent feet, using the dark shadows to hide his approach.
 

He didn’t enter, but slipped behind one of the porch posts. Carefully, he craned his neck and peered through the open door, his eyes searching. Dilapidated sofa, stiff chairs, the scarred, pine table—which now held an oversized mug and a saucer of wax, smoke trailing up from its center—all popped into perfect focus. Other than the lack of color, he could see just as well at night as during the day. ‘He must have spliced in some cat’, his brother Carthridge would say jokingly. The ability was another of Viadal’s blessings to his boys, or, depending on one’s viewpoint, a curse. Viadal had given his children many of those.

Silently slinking from window to window, he scrutinized the interior of the cabin. A quarter hour later, he stood on the front porch once more. Nothing. The only thing out of place was him. He should be inside that warm cabin right now enjoying his two days of freedom, not crawling around out here in the chill mist. He sighed, tried to wipe the filth from his fatigues, then cursed. He was becoming paranoid. Whitesman’s questioning the other day had put them all on edge. The cabin was safe. No one was here to kill him. The terror that licked at him was all in his imagination.

Annoyed with himself, he eased inside and closed the door, absently engaging the locks and security behind him. The scent of wet earth and evergreen clung to the air of the cabin. Not surprising. He’d left the windows cracked during the storm.
 

Pushing aside his unease, he went back to his evening routine. His tea had gone cold, so he reheated it then sipped while he flipped through the pages of the classic Orson Scott Card book,
Ender’s Game
. By the time Ender had been promoted to the Command School ahead of schedule, the soldier’s nerves had eased and he decided to shower.
 

It was as he padded back across the threshold of the darkened bedroom, the small towel around his waist lapping up the water droplets running down his chest, that it came to him—the one thing that was wrong. A scent: Man, distinct in his chemical make-up, the whiff of adrenaline radiating off him in anticipation. The sharp odor was smothered in mud and pine pitch. Still, he should have heard him, seen him,
something
before now. The fact that he hadn’t was alarming.

This realization was instantaneous and not nearly long enough to ponder what that meant… a snap, a burn and the soldier was dead.

Deliver Me from Chaos

Book Four in The Paladin Warrior Novels

Coming Summer 2015

Chapter One

What the hell just happened?
Mike dug his nails into the pavement, air rasping as he sucked the precious gas deep into lungs that felt more like day-old road kill than working organs. Blackness swirled around the edges of his vision. He lifted a shaking hand to rub the last of the fuzziness from his eyes, but stopped as the tacky slickness coating his skin registered. Bloody hands, bloody clothes, bloody…

He swallowed, flashes of memories slamming into him and making him want to vomit up the choking mix of copper and ash that coated his throat.
 

“Oh shit. Oh Christ.”
 

He grabbed his head, fingers digging into his scalp as if he could somehow squeeze the horrific images of slaughter away, even as he searched for an explanation behind the uncompromising truth of the memories.
 
He’d been following a lead. Word had come of a new drug on the street. He’d tracked the source down, pretending interest. They said to deal he needed to be a true convert and came after him with that black vial of shit. He’d known beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could not let that filth touch him. Though maybe he’d overreacted just a little.

Six men, all with guns. And he was the only one left breathing. There was no way he could have taken them all on himself, yet he knew without a doubt that he had. Which meant…

It’s happened again.

His gut clenched, forcing some of its vile contents up into the back of his throat. Acid, copper, and a mix of something so horrifying that he couldn’t even think about it. Fuck, what had he done?
 

“By Lucifer…” a soft voice whispered, barely audible over his pounding heart.

His head snapped up, his gaze latching on the source of that light, airy voice. Small and compact, her curves tucked tight in a red corset, skintight jeans, and fuck-me boots, the woman stood in the entrance of the alley, a slight breeze blowing her blond hair across her face. Full lips parted as her wide eyes took in the circle of destruction radiating out from where he crouched.

Aw, shit. He looked around at the strewn body parts, the pools of blood coagulating in the dips of pavement, looked back at her.
 

Witness…

He lunged.

***

Katrina didn’t miss the tensing of the man’s muscles before he lunged. Still the shock from the bloodbath she’d stumbled upon held her, taking her those precious moments to react. He was halfway across the swath of destruction between them before she cursed, and backpedaled out of the mouth of the alley.
 

The moment she hit the street she spun, her boots catching on a stray bottle and almost sending her down. Scrambling to restore her balance she bolted for the nearest intersection, hoping to find some other soul out in this part of town at this time of the night. Not that there were many about. And not that she had much hope that whomever she found would be willing to help her. But maybe it would give him pause. Though probably not.

Shit. A Paladin. She hadn’t seen one of the angelic warriors in years, and never one of the infamous beserkers, so of course it was just her luck she’d run into one tonight. Normally she thought he might have left her alone, a single half-succubus being the least of his worries in a city being overrun by hell’s creatures, but given what she’d stumbled upon? He’d be just as likely to assume she was associated with the lost souls he’d so expertly dispatched as not.
And he’d be wrong, Kat?

Crap. She pushed harder, sure she could feel the heat of his breath as she ran down the street. She didn’t look back as she blasted into the intersection, cutting the corner as she made the turn onto the wider street.