Dark Warrior: To Tame a Wild Hawk (Dark Cloth) (12 page)

Why did her body scream every time he touched her, every time he kissed her? She was mad. She had to be. How else could a man have such a devastating effect on her body? How could he play her—as if by magic?

How could he make her forget her vows of revenge?

Never again, she swore! She would be the master. McCandle had caused too much harm to let him get away.

Besides, she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t marry Cord. Anything else put her at McCandle’s mercy.

She ignored the voices of the
Grandmothers
that were telling her Hawk was her destiny. She concentrated only on taking McCandle down. The alternative was too unsettling. She didn’t want to think about how cleanly Hawk had climbed into her veins and sang in her blood.

No! She would never go back on her word to her papa. She balled her fists and hit the frame of the window. He would show! He had to show.

In total exhaustion, she flung herself into her rocking chair. Not once had she even considered the fact that fatigue now ruled her thoughts. “Where is he?” she yelled at the ceiling. Her head rolled back, her eyelids too heavy to be denied one moment longer. Her last coherent thought willed the sound of a single horse’s hooves, pounding the ground beneath them.

He would come.
He had to
.

Sleep claimed her, and with it, once more, the dream.

A dense fog shrouded her head, the same dense fog that overtook her every time she closed her eyes. The fear. She ran, but there was no end to the fog. No matter which way she went, it enveloped her; threatened to suffocate her. She wanted to scream. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He was coming for her father. Her papa. No, Papa! Blindly, she fought the fog, thrashing at it, trying in vain to claw her way through it. “No, Papa!” she mouthed. Terror clawed at her heart. “Goddess, help him. No!”

Hands of steel lifted her and held her to a massive wall of granite. In sheer terror, she fought with all her will and might, but it only subdued her.

“Amanda!” a voice pierced the fog. “It’s me, Hawk. Wake up, Mandy. It’s only a dream. Wake up.”

Slowly, Mandy floated up out of the fog. Raising her head, her eyes opened and clashed with the gold ones of the man holding her tight.

“Woman,” his tone was gentle, “what were you dreaming? You fought me as though McCandle himself was on your tail.”

“He is.” She was half-surprised to hear her voice working. “He’s most definitely on my tail; every day, and in every nightmare, until I kill the tormentor,” she nearly yelled. She pressed at his chest with both hands. “Put me down!”

“Not until you tell me about the dream.”

“There’s nothing to tell; just fog, endless fog and no way out. I can feel my papa’s danger. But no words would come out to warn him.” She pushed against him again. “Now, put me down!”

“Mandy!” He released her legs, letting her slide down the length of him, but kept her firmly trapped in his arms. “Where’s your washbasin?” He pointedly looked around the room. “You need some of this heat taken out of you.”

“Do you think me so daft as to tell you?” she practically spat the words.

“Have it your way,” his answer was smooth. He settled her over his shoulder.

She screeched at him in surprise. “Put me down this minute!”

His only answer was to walk from the room, searching for the washbasin. He walked from room to room, heedless of the pounding she was giving his back.

“Put me down,” she screamed. “Hawk, I mean it!”

Finding the basin, he lowered her and held her easily in one arm as he reached for the pitcher of cool water with his free hand. “I wouldn’t add anything more, were I you, woman, if you’d have me go easy on you.” Seeing her look, he eyed the washtub full of water she hadn’t taken out. It was cold now. It would do nicely.

Mandy was too enraged to see reason. “You green-eyed . . . .” She gasped when she hit the water, clothes and all. She should have relented then, but she only saw red. She thought for sure she could rip him apart with her bare hands.

She came up, throwing water at him as fast as she could, and knew a great satisfaction to see him nearly as drenched as she. She would have run—really she would have—if he had not looked down at her just then, and the cold fury in his eyes struck such terror in her heart, she was rooted to the spot for several seconds. When her brain finally had the sense to scream, run, she turned to do just that, knowing the same terror as in her dreams; of feeling as though she were going in slow motion. And when she felt a steel hand manacle her arm, she knew she had tried too little, too late.

He picked her up with one fluid motion and headed straight to the first bedroom he’d spotted on the way in. On reaching it, he flung her on the bed, then turned and slammed the door shut with a booted foot.

Mandy’s face drained of all blood, leaving it a sickly white. She knew fear, now, which matched none other—not even when McKinney had held her a helpless prisoner. She watched as he came slowly forward, as though stalking his prey; a menacing glitter was in his eyes, so cold was his fury. When he reached the bed, she made a mad dash for the other side, but felt her foot grasped and her body being pulled slowly towards him. Too late, she tried for reason, “Hawk. I didn’t mean it,” she screeched.

“You should have thought of that before,” he growled. “Tell me, Mandy, do you always allow such free rein to your temper?”

“Papa told me the same. I’ve tried, but I didn’t mean it, Hawk. Truly I didn’t.”

He picked her up easily, and set her face-down over his lap. She struggled and screeched, but to no avail. When she would have cursed him again, she felt him softly caress her buttocks and was swamped with a whole different type of heat.

“Did you really think I would hurt you?” he bit out.

She couldn’t have moved.

One hand held her firmly at the small of her back, and his free hand was doing delicious things, which made her feel she’d gone mad—considering where she was and what he’d been threatening to do. Warmth swirled through her, paying no heed to her anger or embarrassment.

His voice was husky when he next spoke. “I warn you, Mandy. Don’t ever try that again or what you feel from my hands will not be pleasant.”

Her voice was a hiss. “Nobody could ever accuse you of being a gentleman, no matter the years you spent in the South.”

She could feel every ridged line beneath her body, and knew firsthand that he struggled with his anger. “You test a man sorely, Mandy.”

She lay silent, waiting.

Finally, he sat her up. Taking in her pouting mouth, he tried to restrain himself and lost. With a growl, he threaded his fingers through her hair, now loose from their struggles. “Every time I see your hair bound, I will free it.” He whispered this, a breath from her lips. “Like your spirit, I will have it be free, my woman.”

She shivered at his possessive words. An almost violent need stole through her blood. With a start, she realized how true his words had been. She closed her eyes and shuddered with the force of it. Yes, she was his, as truly as though he’d made it so. She was his, and she’d never belong to another. Anger, as well as pain from this revelation, made her challenge him. “It is only this farce I started. I am not truly your woman!”

His eyes pierced hers, seeming to steal deep into her soul, to know her thoughts. She wanted to look away, but her eyes, of their own volition, were held captive by this seemingly hypnotic effect he held over her. “Did you not pay heed to the
Grandmothers?
You are my woman,” he stated simply. “I will make it so.”

At times, she thought he was completely Indian in his male arrogance. He commanded it. It was him, a part of him. This confidence. This complete knowledge of who he was. What he wanted. He would not pretend otherwise.

She was startled to realize she would not have him pretend otherwise. It was part of what struck such fear in his enemy’s hearts. It undermined them. That, and how deadly fast he was—how swift his retribution.

Like someone else she knew, she thought vaguely.

She shook her head, violently. No! Where did that come from? He was nothing like Jason McCandle. Nothing!

Hawk, seeing her shake her head and misinterpreting its meaning, stood suddenly, leaving Mandy bereft.

When she realized what he thought, she stood and grabbed his arm. “No, Hawk. I wasn’t telling you no. I was just thinking something, and I reacted to those thoughts.”

Hawk turned back to her, his hand reaching up and caressing her cheek. “Tell me of them,” he commanded quietly.

She looked confused, then answered. “I was thinking how much like Jason McCandle you are.”

He sucked in his breath.

“I know.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Now you know why I was shaking my head. I couldn’t believe I’d thought it. You’re nothing like him. Only . . . .”

“Only what?” he demanded.

“How swift you are with your retribution, like him,” she answered and frowned. “And . . . .”

He gave her a slight shake to prod her.

“It’s just, now that I think about it, you’re very much like him. Yet you’re as different as night and day. Isn’t it funny? Him so light, you so dark, yet him being the evil one, while you’re,” she lifted her eyes and gazed at him with all the soft, melting emotions she felt shining in her eyes, “anything but . . . .” she almost whispered.

She sighed and turned away while Hawk watched her intently. “To be fair, Jason isn’t the evil one, though he rules this town as though he were a king. It’s his son who’s evil. I just wish I could be certain Jason had nothing to do with my father’s death. I wish I could be certain it was only his son.”

Hawk took hold of her arm and pulled her gently to his chest. She went, not even questioning it until much later. It felt too good.

So right.

His hand softly stroked her, up and down her back. He caressed her, soothing her. After a time, he gently raised her chin, lowering his mouth to cover hers in a tender kiss. No sooner were their mouths meeting, and the fire was sparking into full-blown flames, than the wind seemed to flare up and fan those flames into a raging fire.

He knew he possessed her in that single kiss. Yet her spirit would not be conquered. That is what he loved about her, her spirit. She would not give her heart easily, and once given, it would be his forever. Not given, then easily taken away. No indeed, they would grow old together. Their love would grow stronger as each year came and went. But first she would have to recognize this love, for she had a strong mind and was proud.

He felt her body shake with the power of his kiss. A need stole through him that was so deep it took his breath, and she brought her arms around his neck. She reached inside his soul, firing flames that seemingly wrapped her body inside his. She belonged to him and to him alone. He would kill any other man who tried to touch her this way.

She wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck, matching him kiss for kiss, arching her body towards his, melding them as one.

He lifted her, settling them both on the bed. A voice in the back of his mind was telling him that he wanted more than this one night. His heart was ignoring his logical mind, too deeply entrenched with its own needs and desires to pay him heed. It told him only that she was his, now and forever. He didn’t question this. He knew it to be so.

Mandy wrapped her legs around him. Never had she experienced anything like this. So great were these feelings, they shook her to her core. Her body trembled with her need.

It took her several seconds to realize someone was banging on the door. And even when she comprehended it, she tried hard to ignore it, so great did she want Hawk to continue this assault of such exquisite torture upon her body. However, the loud banging was anything but exquisite.

In fact, it was downright annoying.

Hawk rose up with a deep scowl that once again reminded her that she was glad she was not his enemy. “What the hell?” he demanded. He pulled away and marched out the door, no doubt bent on doing someone great harm.

Mandy would have laughed, if she had not been afraid for whoever had knocked. She jumped up and raced after him, reaching him as he yanked the door open, a deadly look in his eyes. His body tensed to pounce.

And he came face-to-face with Ashley.

She thought she would laugh out loud when she saw the look on Ashley’s face. He looked from her lips, still swollen from Hawk’s kisses, to Mandy’s wet clothes, then Hawk’s, before traveling up to Hawk’s menacing scowl. Ashley bellowed his rage. “I’ll kill you, by God. I’ll slit you like a fish, from head to toe,” he raged.

It wasn’t funny. Truly, it wasn’t. And much later they would talk to every man on the ranch, to work out how McCandle had stolen onto the ranch, endangering everyone, but right here, right now, it was fortuitous. If only Hawk hadn’t had the unbelievable manners to stand there—and smile, now that he saw who it was, as if he were actually happy to see him. It was a smile so smug and, well, sated, you would think something more than kissing had been going on in the next room.

And when Mandy looked at Ashley, he was dark purple. He sputtered and, for once in all the time she’d known him, he was without words to say.