Darkness Awakened (Primal Heat Trilogy #1) (Order of the Blade) (5 page)

She hadn’t succumbed to tears even once since Ana had disappeared. She’d worked hard to stay strong and to maintain her focus. Then some stranger hands her a blanket and it makes her want to start sobbing? She had no time for tears. She cleared her throat and managed a small smile. “Thanks.” She shrugged off her drenched coat, and he took it from her hand as he gave her the blanket.

“No problem.” Watching her as if he were taking note of every detail about her, he tossed the jacket over a hook by the fireplace, then made quick work of starting a fire while she wrapped herself in the thick blanket that smelled of wood smoke, man and warmth.

Within moments, the small cabin was filled with the flickering orange light, the roar of flames, and the crackle of dried logs burning. The reflection from the fire danced over his skin just as she’d envisioned it, and his gaze locked on hers, as if he were thinking the same thing.

Heat rose inside the comforter wrapped so tightly around her, and suddenly she wanted to peel it off her body and—

His eyes narrowed and his expression changed from smoldering heat to utter and intense coldness. Gone was the humanity of that quick smile he’d given her, replaced by the calculating warrior who saw her only as a threat, or an impediment. She knew then why he hadn’t said much so far. He wasn’t ready. He was still assessing her and figuring her out before deciding his avenue of attack.

Suddenly cold again, she hugged her arms tighter, trying to stop herself from trembling. But even her belly was aching from shivering. She’d been too cold for too long. Oregon wasn’t supposed to be this cold in the winter. Warm and rainy, not below freezing with the forecast of an ice storm.

Quinn walked to the kitchen, where he grabbed three bagels and a couple bottles of water. She sighed and eased over to the fire, trying to get warm and collect herself. She’d have one chance to ask for his help, one opportunity to play her hand. She had to get the timing right, the delivery perfect, all of it carefully executed. What kind of request would he respond to? She needed to analyze him exactly as he’d been evaluating her.

Quinn headed back in her direction, and her belly fluttered as he neared. But all he did was shove a bagel and a bottle of water at her before easing himself onto his bed, the only place to sit in the room. The faded blue blankets were askew from when he’d ripped off the comforter, and one of the pillows was on the floor.

He opened his water, took a big bite of the bagel and leaned back, grimacing slightly when his back hit the headboard. His body was solid and well-muscled as he hooked his arm over the pine bed frame. There was a scar above his right eye and his nose looked like it had been shattered more than once, giving him the air of a soldier who had endured the worst and come out the victor.

His brown eyes regarded her coldly. Waiting. “So, Grace Matthews,” he said finally. “What do you want?”

It was time.

She willed herself courage, then dragged herself and the comforter across the room and perched on the edge of the bed, decadently close to his legs. He was sprawled carelessly over the mattress, as if he hadn’t had the energy to hold himself up a moment longer. He hadn’t bothered to take off his muddy boots and didn’t even seem to notice that oversight.

Or maybe that’s how he always slept: owning his space, fully dressed, and ready to go to battle in a split second.

She faced him, tucking her feet up under her to keep her toes from brushing against his heavily muscled thigh. She met his gaze, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “I need your help.”

His face grew hard and unreadable, and she flinched at the sudden thread of warning in the air.
Get the hell away from me.
The message was clear and it was pushing at her like a hot poker, driving her to jump to her feet and run to the door.

But she had no choice. He was her last option. There was nowhere else to go. She braced her feet on the floor and ordered her body to stay where it was. “No.”

His brow wrinkled in a brief show of confusion. “No, what?”

“I’m not
getting the hell away from you,
as you so eloquently put it.”

Tension snapped through his body and he jerked upright. “
You heard that?”

“Of course. How could I not? I’d have to be dead not to.”

He cursed and shoved to his feet with a groan of pain that made her frown. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He ignored her question, running his hand through his hair in agitation. “How the hell did you hear my thoughts?”

She blinked. “Your thoughts? You didn’t say that out loud?”

“No. I didn’t.” He leaned over her suddenly, his hands on the blankets on either side of her hips, invading her space. “Tell me—” He stopped suddenly and he bent closer and inhaled. “You smell unbelievable.”

“I can’t read thoughts,” she whispered, her heart racing at the intimacy of his position. His face was inches from hers, his lips barely a breath away. She could feel the heat from his body radiating through the air like a hot wind on her face. Her spine curled at the deep rumble of his voice, at the intensity of his emotions, stripping right through her and burning her skin.

She edged backwards, even as she wanted to lean into him, to press her nose against his neck, to inhale the scent that was him. Her response to his nearness was terrifying. What was wrong with her? Was her reaction simply because he was a Calydon? She’d heard they were intensely sensual, but he made her feel like she was spinning out of control, catapulting down a crevasse to fall under his dangerous spell.

He cursed and stood up, jerking his hands back to his sides. His jaw was clenched, shadowed with coarse whiskers. The fire gave enough light that she could see now that his jeans were black, and his hip-length leather jacket was creased, battered and ripped to shreds over his left forearm. It looked like it had been worn so much that it had become part of his body. Like it belonged on him.

He shifted and a flash of pain crossed his features before he could school them into a neutral expression.

“You’re hurt?” Concern flared inside her and she grabbed his hand instinctively before she could think about it, her fingers closing over the roughness of his palm. Shock rattled her as soon as their skin touched, and she was falling—

His hand tightened around hers, and his eyes darkened. For a moment, the world fell away and it was just him, just the heat of his hand and—

He growled and yanked his hand out of hers. “You need to leave. Now. I have...things I need to do. Someone to find and kill.” He added the last as if trying to scare her, then he turned away, grabbed a heavy parka from a corner armoire she hadn’t noticed, and held it out. “This will keep you dry and warm. Now, get out.”

She stood up and faced him, making no move to take the coat, realizing she probably had about two seconds before he picked her up and tossed her out the door. Here was her moment. Succeed or fail. It was now. “I’m here because I need your help finding my sister.” She couldn’t keep the fear, the anguish, and the worry out of her voice. “She’s missing.”

Softness flickered through those dark eyes, and his hand went to her face. His fingers drifted over her cheek with the lightest touch, making her throat tighten at the tender intimacy. She froze, afraid any movement from her would destroy the moment, drive him away.

Then he cursed, dropped his hand and strode past her. He swept her backpack off the floor and yanked open the front door. “Out.”

She didn’t move, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hands at the hostile expression on Quinn’s face. His eyes were cold and harsh, a reflection of the Calydon warrior he was. A man who had killed many, and never flinched.

She lifted her chin and let him see the truth in her face as to why she was here, why she’d picked
him
. “In case you haven’t heard the news out here in the woods, your teammate Elijah Ross was found murdered last night. I think my sister did it.”

* * *

Quinn
felt like she’d sucker-punched him in the gut. “Elijah’s dead?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’m so sorry.”

“No.” Impossible. He would have known that, wouldn’t he? Yeah, he’d blocked his connection with Elijah because he didn’t want his blood brother to know he’d survived the attack until he was ready to use their connection to hunt him down, but he was damn sure he would have sensed Elijah’s death. He folded his arms over his chest, suspicions glaring in his mind as he quickly recovered from the shock of her words. What was Grace trying to pull? “He’s not dead.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d believe me, so I brought the paper...” Keeping a wary eye on him, she held out her hand for her backpack, which he still gripped in his fist.

“I’ll check.” He unzipped the bag, jumping at the chance to see if he could learn anything about this woman who’d read his damn mind and nearly gotten herself seduced when she’d curled up on his bed in that comforter, looking so damn vulnerable and sexy he’d nearly forgotten everything that mattered. Like, you know, saving his blood brother, redeeming his uncle’s death, fulfilling his life’s mission, and, of course, staying the hell away from any woman who could be his
sheva.

Inside the black nylon bag, a folded newspaper was wedged down beside a pair of jeans and a pair of thick socks. He caught a whiff of her scent from the clothes, and his groin hardened instantly. Hell. He’d been in a constant state of arousal since he’d first scented her, and it was making him jumpy as hell.

He needed to chill. It was most likely a simple explanation. It’d been too damn long since he’d been with a woman, and she was the one who was here. That was it. Nothing else.

The need for women pulsed hot in the veins of all Calydons, but any female they took up with could be their
sheva
, so many tried to stay away, despite the burning passion that drove them. It was a constant battle that few Calydons could win over the long term. Like Quinn’s fellow Order member Ian, who’d taken the risk one too many times and wound up meeting his
sheva
, nearly dying for his mistake. Quinn swore, still pissed at how Ian’s situation had unraveled. It was another strike against his theory, against the odds of succeeding on the mission that had galvanized him for five hundred years.

Quinn had held off women for a long time, and the urge to grab Grace and sink himself into her was pulsing so hard and so deep that he could barely restrain himself.

Lust. Simple damn lust.

That was all he could afford for it to be, because he had much more important shit to deal with right now.

He let her bag drop to his feet and opened the newspaper. Dated today, Elijah’s mug shot was on the front page, and Quinn stared into the eyes of the man he knew so well. The teammate who’d pulled him from death countless times, who knew secrets about him no one else did.

Quinn traced his thumb over the black and white image as he carefully unwound the mental shields he’d erected and opened his mind to his blood brother.
Elijah. You with me?

There was no response. Not even a pulse of energy. Simply, emptiness. Like Elijah had never existed. Quinn had connected with Elijah at the attack, but he hadn’t been able to pull anything on him since he’d woken up. Not a damn thing, for the first time since they’d blood bonded five hundred years ago.
Elijah.
He sent the call with renewed force.
Where the hell are you?
He swore in frustration when there was nothing and looked back down at the photo, a dark dread settling over him. Was it really possible that he was dead? “Son of a bitch.”

Sympathy softened Grace’s face as she touched his arm. He froze at the unexpected intimacy.

“I’m sorry he’s dead,” she said, empathy so full in her voice that he was actually confused. No one spoke to him like that, like they thought he was some emotion-laded beast. “I know what it feels like to lose someone you love. It sucks beyond belief.”

The deep pain in her voice tugged at him. Instead of brushing her hand away, he turned his head enough to look at her, surprised to see the sadness in her eyes. She smiled at him, and he wanted to open his arms to her and offer her comfort from her suffering. “Who died in your life?” he asked quietly.

“My parents.”

“Sucks.” He set his hand over hers and squeezed lightly. He knew that kind of pain. It did suck, no matter how many times you had to face it.

She nodded. “Yes.” Her grip tightened on his arm, her fingers so delicate, yet surprisingly powerful. “That’s why I can’t lose Ana. I can’t let her die, too. She’s all I have left.”

He felt the truth in her words, and they felt far too similar to the plea that had been issued to him five hundred years ago by his uncle, the one he’d ignored just before he’d ruined the lives of everyone he cared about. Was Grace his chance for redemption?

No. She couldn’t be. It was Elijah. That was his mission. He had to stay focused. He forced himself to peel her hand off his arm and set it back gently by her side. “I’m sorry about your sister.”