Deliver Me from Darkness: A Novel of the Paladin Warriors (13 page)

And this was how a two-year-old felt, only she was too old to squirm. “A touch of empathy.”

“Empathy.” He glanced at Nondescript, who shrugged.

“Though not exactly,” she hurried on.

Gerar folded his hands on the table before him, probably to keep from reaching out and snapping her neck. She so wasn’t doing this well.

“I sense intent, not anything concrete.”

“And the intent of the beings that followed you?”

“To capture me.”

“Not to kill you?”

“I didn’t get that impression, no.”

“I find that hard to believe. Ganelon would have no purpose in a low-level, gifted human. And his minions would look at you as nothing more than a light snack. Berin?”

Logan shifted uncomfortably beside her, his first outward sign of unease.

“Still truth. She believes it, at least.”

Gerar’s long fingers tapped the table. With a final drum, he slapped his hand down, looking over her shoulder at one of the men behind her. “Alexander, I believe we could use your talents here.”

Karissa spun around to see a large man approaching from three rows back. Other than his size, he didn’t look overly threatening. In fact, if the slight curve of his lips were any indication, he seemed sympathetic to her discomfort. It didn’t matter. She didn’t want to be the subject on which his talents, whatever they might be, were used.

Her gaze went past him to the door at the back of the hall. One jump and she’d be well ahead of them…if only she knew where the heck she could run.

Logan’s hands closed on her shoulders. “You’re scaring her, Gerar.”

“If she has nothing to hide, then there is no reason to be scared.”

“And there is no reason to put her through the inquisition either. She is innocent in this and came to us for help.”

“Maybe,” Gerar leaned forward on his elbows, “but you have to ask yourself, Logan, why?”

“Not to mention how her grandfather knew of us, and how he knew to send her to Logan, specifically,” a familiar voice piped up from the rows of Paladin.

Karissa snapped her head back around, zeroing in on Valin, who’d taken up position in the front row. While most of the other men looked curious, he looked downright suspicious.

“Good point, Master Valin.”

Great. Just great. Ice-heart Gerar and Black Knight Boy were in accord.

Alexander the Giant had about reached her. She cringed away from his outstretched hand. “Don’t touch me!”

Alexander hesitated, his gaze going questioningly to the elders.

“Alexander’s gift is to measure the strength of a person’s gift, nothing more. He will not harm you, child.”

Karissa looked back to the table of elders, her eyes honing in on an older gentleman who sat at the far end smiling at her encouragingly. Okay, maybe they weren’t all coldhearted bastards. Still…

“What does it matter how powerful my gift is?” she demanded.

“Because if you hold enough power, even if untapped, it might explain why Ganelon was interested in you for himself. Or, at least, it
might
be the reason…” This came from Valin. Asshole. And it was that dislike, and the steel it put in her back, that had her snapping back without thinking.

Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing as she stared down the arrogant bastard in the front row. “Oh, my gift is powerful enough. Powerful enough to stay one step ahead of two demons and their imps.”

“That’s impossible,” someone scoffed from the middle of the pack. “No human, no matter their gift, would be able to get away against those odds.”

“Unless they purposely let her go so Logan would bring her here,” someone else suggested. “She could be leading them straight to our door.”

Karissa bristled, scanning the crowd for support…and found none. Even Alexander, who seemed sympathetic a moment before, looked at her guardedly. The only one who didn’t seem to have decided she might be an enemy in their midst was…oh, crap. Valin. He had dropped his folded arms and was looking at her with unabashed interest.

Eyes narrowed, Valin took a step forward. Logan drew her in front of him, placing his body firmly between her and the twenty-one—yup, she’d had a chance to count them now—men behind them.

“Gerar, I demand the council of elders place Miss Donovan under their protection.”

“You think you have the right to demand this?” Gerar sounded incredulous, insulted even.

“Possibly not,” Logan replied sharply. “But she does.”

Karissa jerked her head up and saw nothing but Logan’s jaw muscle ticking in the corner.

“And who, and I don’t mean her name, is she to do so?”

More ticking. A long pause. “She’s a teleporter.”

Karissa didn’t know that one label could cause the reaction it did. Every single one of the elders paled, Gerar jerked upright in his seat, and behind them fell an ominous blanket of shocked silence. And then? Well, then the room exploded.

Roland couldn’t get far enough away fast enough, the instinct for blood drawing him deeper into the flashy downtown nightlife. No matter how far he fled, how much he tried to shut his mind down, Karissa’s words echoed in his head like some sort of war drum pounding out the beat of his flight.

Not
with
what
you
are…

There was no escaping what he was. No, the only thing he could do was try to control and direct the animalistic instincts within him. Lately, he wondered if it was a losing battle. Blood. Fear. Power. Tonight, when everything else seemed to be spiraling out of control, he needed these things more than ever.

His mate. Rejecting him.

He hadn’t left until Valin had pulled the massive wood doors closed behind them, effectively shutting him off from Karissa. He had to have faith that Calhoun would protect her. There was no doubt that was Logan’s intention, even if it wasn’t his right to do so.

You
think
it’s yours?
Calhoun’s question had been another lash across Roland’s bared heart.

It was. Karissa was his to protect. How or why the One God had failed to deliver her in time to save Roland’s soul, he didn’t understand, but one thing he did know: She was his mate. Calhoun wouldn’t believe him. As much as he still considered Roland a brother, he also considered him fallen. And in Calhoun’s eyes, a fallen Paladin could never have a Paladin mate.

Karissa thought he was trying to enthrall her. He could plead his case for an eon and she probably wouldn’t believe him. Shit. It didn’t matter. Regardless of how right it had felt to kiss her, he shouldn’t have done so. She might be his mate, but she couldn’t be his. He was no longer a Paladin and had no right to claim her. The best gift he could give her was his absence. Maybe, in time, the bond that begged to be forged between them would ease, allowing her to pair with someone else. A deserving partner. Like Calhoun.

And
if
that
bastard
dares
to
touch
her
I’m going to rip his throat out.

Shit. Roland spun around on the roof he landed on, clasping his hands, knuckles popping as he cracked them. He stared up at the sparkling night sky, sucking down the crisp air in hopes of banking the unwarranted fury. He had to calm down. Calhoun wasn’t the one he should be worried about. Honorable and Trustworthy could have been Logan’s middle name. His friend might desire Karissa, but he’d never act on that without encouragement. The others, though…

A bank of red clouds hazed out the clear night, warning Roland that he was losing control again. He jerked his head down, pacing the length of the roof to work off some of his fear-induced violence. What he really needed was a distraction. He stopped to study the street below. And wouldn’t you know…there, like some sort of bloody steak offering for the hungry lion, was a certain red mustang swinging into a nearby parking garage.

Roland tisked, shaking his head. “Tommy, Tommy…You really have a thick head, don’t you?”

***

Damn. Logan hated when Roland was right. He never should have brought Karissa here.

He shifted Karissa farther behind him, making sure to keep between her and his twenty-one brothers who were inching closer and closer with each passing moment. Behind them the elders were all in an uproar, demanding he turn to face them and answer their questions. Not going to happen. He didn’t exactly trust the elders either, but right now they were the lesser of two evils. At least they were bound by their station and its traditions. The men staring out of those forty-two eyes? Not so much. They wanted her, and Logan didn’t doubt most would be willing to risk retribution if it meant they had first dibs on marking her.

“Logan? What is going on?” Karissa’s voice, barely louder than a whisper, broke over the general roar of the other men. Her fragile hands gripped his shoulders, her slim body tense against his back.

Yeah, um, how to answer that:
Don’t worry, Karissa, these men all just want to rip you away from me and force their mark on you.
Well, it wasn’t going to happen. He was going to protect her. Shielding her wouldn’t work; there were at least three men here who could walk through Logan’s shields and another two who had the ability to tear them down. And if he allowed her to flee, Valin, who had the ability to dissolve into darkness and travel by air, would be hot on her tail. That left…

Turning his back on the advancing threat, he drew Karissa close into his body and began to mutter the beginning of the ceremony in the ancient language. There was a collective pause behind them, then a roar of outrage as feet shuffled behind them.

Not enough time.

Just then the doors at the back of the hall slammed open, and a deep baritone voice rang out over the ensuing scuffle. “Christ, Gerar, can’t you maintain order for the twenty minutes it took me to get here?”

The sound of his father’s voice should have been a relief. It wasn’t. If anything, it gave Logan a new sense of urgency.

Finish
it,
his inner voice commanded with such force he was required to obey.

“What is going on here?”

Logan dimly heard the heavy footfalls as his father stalked down the aisle, but the power throbbing within him was like a rising storm roaring in his ears, obliterating anything but the words crossing his lips and the woman curled protectively in his arms.

There was more shuffling as the others moved out of their leader’s way, then, “Who is this?”

Karissa shifted in his grip, straining on her tiptoes to peer around him. Logan’s father sucked in a shocked breath. His reaction did nothing to quell Logan’s determination. His father’s concern over the Paladin’s diluted bloodlines was legendary. He’d been searching for a compatible female with enough Paladin blood in hopes of rejuvenating their endangered gene pool. And wouldn’t Karissa look like a godsend?

“Karissa, look at me,” Logan commanded, his one hand cradling the back of her neck as he placed the other over the base of her throat. The power rolling and expanding within him collected in that hand, warming her skin. Karissa’s gaze flew up to his, her pupils dilating in surprise.

He finished the last of the ancient words, translating the final part of the marking ceremony aloud as he released the caged energy within him into her slim body. “So that I shall know thee, as thou shall know me: body, heart, soul.”

What happened then was completely unexpected. There was no opening of a pathway between their minds, nor was there a birthing of his mark upon her. Instead she stiffened, her eyes rolling up beneath her long lashes just before she collapsed. Logan barely caught her, and wouldn’t have if his father hadn’t reached out at that moment and offered his own arms as support.

There was a collective intake of breath from the men surrounding them, then absolute silence as father met son’s gaze over the still form in their arms.

“By God…Logan, what have you done?”

***

Easy as pie. A couple fancy drinks, a quick flash of the diamond cuff links as he paid the bill with his Visa black card, along with that charming trust-me smile he was famous for, and she was all his. The blond coed he’d separated out from her friends was so easily impressed—not to mention drunk—that Tom bet he could have had her pinned against the leather steering wheel of his mustang five minutes after her gaggle had skipped off to the next bar. But what would have been the fun in that?

“So. Investment banking, huh?” The blond popped the cherry from her drink into her mouth, her tongue working the stem. “With the current economy, you must be exceptionally good at your job.”

Her eyes traveled over Tom. Tom chose not to notice the fact that she was taking in the lines of his expensive suit rather than the slightly less straight lines of his physique. He wasn’t a total couch potato, but six-pack abs and bulging biceps were things of his football past. At least he still had his hair. Basically.