Fire Rising (Dark Kings) (3 page)

Before Cassie made the phone call, she stuck her head around the corner and said something to whoever was there. While she called the house, a tall man with faded jeans riding low on trim hips and a burgundy tee with a dragon design mimicking a tribal tattoo came walking into the shop.

It was hard to tell how long his dark hair was because he had it pulled back in a queue, but his aqua eyes glanced at Sammi before they landed on Lily. After a hesitation, in which he took in every inch of the petite woman, he looked away and walked around the counter to a case of whisky waiting to be stocked on the shelves.

Sammi’s gaze turned to Lily to find she was staring at the man as if he were the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Granted, he was drool-worthy, but Sammi had seen many men like him during her days at the pub. They were gorgeous, and most of them knew it. To those men, females were meant for entertainment and nothing more.

But by the way Lily couldn’t look away from him, Sammi was going to have to caution her. Then she realized that maybe she shouldn’t. Everyone needed to fall in love at least once, and everyone needed to have their heart broken once. That way, when love came again, it was all the sweeter.

At least that’s what her mum had always said. Sammi hadn’t given that piece of advice a try. Oh, she’d had her heart broken when she was a teenager, but she hadn’t fallen in love.

And she never would.

Cassie hung up the phone and met Sammi’s eyes. “Jane is on her way. Lily, why don’t we go in the back?”

Sammi gave Lily a wink of encouragement, and then found herself alone with the man.

“So you’re Samantha,” he said without looking at her.

She turned toward him fully and glared, not that he saw it. He kept stocking the whisky as if he hadn’t just spoken to her. “I prefer Sammi.”

“You prefer a male name?”

“Do you prefer to walk around holding your twig and berries after I kick you?”

He paused. Then he looked at her over his shoulder, a wide smile upon his lips. “I thought you’d be more like Jane.”

“Quiet and demure, or klutzy?”

“Either. Both.”

“Leave her alone, Rhys,” Jane said as she let the door close behind her, though there was no censure in her tone. “Sammi manages to stay upright. As for demure, I think she’s brilliant just as she is.”

Sammi hated when Jane said things like that because it always made her eyes prick with tears. She looked into Jane’s amber eyes and knew everything would be all right.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Jane said and rushed to her.

Sammi tried not to grimace when Jane hugged her, but she didn’t hide it quickly enough. Jane pulled back at the same time Rhys faced her.

Jane’s gaze silently probed her for several minutes before she asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing. Why? Can’t I come see my half-sister?”

“Absolutely,” Jane said, her gaze still searching. “It’s just … well, to put it bluntly, you haven’t.”

Sammi cringed. “I know. I’m sorry. I wanted to take a few days and see you. If you aren’t busy, that is.”

“Not at all. I’m beyond happy that you’re here. Are you sure everything is all right?” she asked again.

Sammi forced a laugh. “Of course it is. Why would you keep asking that?”

“You’ve lost weight, not that you had a lot to lose to begin with. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes too, and you’re holding your left arm oddly. And is that blood coming through your shirt near your shoulder?”

Suddenly, the past four weeks slammed into Sammi. Or maybe it was because she was finally on Dreagan—Jane had let it slip that it was one of the most heavily guarded areas in Scotland—and felt safe enough to let down her guard.

Either way, it was as though her body had simply reached its limit. Sammi could barely hold her eyes open she was so exhausted. She grabbed the counter to keep on her feet and her fatigue at bay while she searched her mind to come up with some lie.

But she didn’t want to lie anymore, not to Jane. She couldn’t tell them the truth, but she could give them something. “It’s a small wound, and it’s better if you don’t know anything. I just need a place to stay for the night.”

“You’ll stay longer,” Jane stated with a nod.

But Sammi was already shaking her head. “No.”

“Banan, tell her,” Jane said.

Banan’s tall form walked around the counter to Jane. Sammi hadn’t even known he had entered the shop. He stood behind Jane, his hands on her shoulders as his gray eyes met Sammi’s. Whereas Rhys’s hair was long, Banan kept his dark brown locks cut short.

“Jane is right. You need to stay,” Banan said.

Sammi knew it was useless to argue now. She would be up early and gone before they knew it. Now that she knew she was at Dreagan and could stay, she could barely keep upright. Her stomach growled, her wound ached, and her eyes fought to stay open.

“Let’s get you to the house,” Jane said as she turned Sammi and guided her to the door. “Banan will get your things. Once you’re fed and rested, I want you to tell me what’s going on. I can help.”

Sammi kept her gaze straight ahead and put one foot in front of the other by sheer will alone. She refused to collapse. There was nothing Jane could say that would convince Sammi to tell her any of her troubles. The less Jane and Banan knew, the better.

At least that’s what she prayed for.

CHAPTER TWO

Tristan strode angrily from the mountain. For weeks, he had been hounded by Phelan who repeatedly asked whether he remembered anything before he had become a Dragon King.

No matter how many questions Phelan asked, no matter how many stories Phelan told of him and his twin, Ian, Tristan remembered nothing of it.

There was no denying he was an exact replica of Ian Kerr based on the photos he’d been shown, but whatever connection Ian and Duncan shared hadn’t been passed on to him. Duncan had been killed, but Phelan said Ian had heard Duncan’s voice in his head afterward.

Maybe Duncan had died, his soul at least. Tristan had his body, but a new soul. He didn’t know, and he was tired of everyone pestering him about it.

“Tristan, wait,” Laith said as he hurried to catch up. “We’re all just trying to help.”

Tristan came to an abrupt halt and turned to Laith to look into the Dragon King’s eyes that were the color of gunmetal. “Why is it difficult for everyone to comprehend that there is nothing in here,” he said and punched a finger against the side of his head, “about Duncan Kerr? My memories began when I woke up in the snow, naked and holding a sword two years ago.”

“Because there’s no denying you are Ian’s twin, mate. We just want to help.”

Tristan put his hands on his hips and let out an exasperated sigh. He looked around him, at the stark, rugged beauty of Scotland and felt some of the tension ease from him. There had never been any doubt he was a Scot. He had the brogue, but it was more than that. Scotland was in his soul, in the very fiber of his being.

“What if there are no memories of Duncan?”

Laith shrugged. “Then there’s no’. We move on.”

“And if there are memories, and they’re just buried?” he asked hesitantly, almost afraid to voice what had plagued him since he’d learned who Ian was.

“If the memories are there, it’s up to you whether you want them to come forth, Tristan. They may stay hidden because you are no’ ready. Or, like you’ve said, they may no’ even be there.”

“I doona want to see Ian.”

“You can no’ run from him forever.”

Tristan rubbed the back of his neck. “I just doona want to see the discouraged look in his eyes. I know what he wants, but I can no’ give it to him.”

Laith’s next words were stopped when they spotted Banan and Jane leading a woman to the manor. The woman wasn’t quite as tall as Jane, and her wavy, sandy-colored hair lifted off her shoulders in the breeze. The woman pushed her bangs out of her eyes, which caused her not to see Duke come bounding around the house.

The Great Dane stopped next to her, but his sheer size caused her to have to quickly regain her balance when the dog leaned against her. That’s when Tristan saw her wince and protect her left arm by holding it tightly against her.

“Who is that?” Tristan asked.

Laith watched them a few more seconds before he said, “I gather by the way Jane is fussing that she’s Sammi, Jane’s half-sister.”

While Banan took Duke’s collar, Jane ushered Sammi into the house. Just before Sammi walked in, her head turned and she looked right at Tristan with her powder-blue eyes. It was like a punch in the gut.

Startling, disconcerting.

Amazing.

The surprising connection that seemed to zip between them left him pitching, tumbling. Plunging.

And he wanted more. So very much more.

“Tristan?”

He pulled his gaze away from the now-empty doorway and looked at Laith. “What?”

“Whatever you’re thinking involving Sammi, I wouldna advise it.”

Tristan frowned and glanced at the house, wondering what kind of injury Sammi had. “What do you mean?”

“Forget it.” Laith gave a shake of his head, a wry smile upon his lips. “I’ve got to see what happens next. Come on. Let’s go meet Sammi.”

The fact that Tristan wanted a closer look at the woman should have been enough to make him walk the other way. He was just getting ensconced in his life at Dreagan. Phelan and the other Warriors were complicating things enough. Tristan certainly didn’t need a woman added to the mix.

Yet he followed Laith into the manor. The sound of voices came from the kitchen. As they stopped at the doorway of the kitchen they saw Elena pouring some tea and Jane fixing a sandwich while Sammi sat at the table desperately trying to stay awake.

He found his gaze drawn to her no matter how hard he tried to look away. Even in profile, she was beautiful with her long, graceful neck and her fall of sandy-colored hair about her. She sat tall and straight in the chair, as if it was as natural as breathing.

Tristan saw her fall asleep twice and jerk awake both times. The third time, she listed to the right. He rushed to her, grabbing her just before she hit the floor. Jane, Elena, and Banan turned as one from whatever they were doing to gawk at him.

He gazed down at the woman who slept in his arms, completely taken unawares as he looked into her oval face. Her cheekbones were incredibly high, her nose small, and her lips as decadent as sin.

Even in sleep, she made his body hunger to know her, his lips crave to taste her, and his hands ache to caress her. Desire shot through him like lightning, making him burn.

Making him yearn.

Tristan moved a strand of her hair out of her lashes and wished she would open her eyes so he could look into their cool color once more.

Then he remembered where he was, and just who he was holding. “I think the food is going to have to wait.”

“I knew she looked tired,” Jane said, a frown marring her forehead.

Tristan easily shifted Sammi’s body into his arms and stood. “She’s too skinny.”

“I knew she had lost weight too,” Jane said with a shake of her head. Then she looked at Banan. “I think she’s in some real trouble.”

“We’ll get it out of her,” Banan promised.

Tristan was careful not to touch Sammi’s left arm as more blood seeped through her shirt. “What about her injury?”

Banan let out a string of curses as he walked from the kitchen. “She said it was nothing. Bring her, Tristan.”

Jane was at his heels, tripping twice, as he followed Banan up the stairs. Despite both of them watching him like hawks, Tristan found his gaze drawn again and again to the woman in his arms.

Her hair, a unique mixture of blond and light brown, hung over his arm, the waves teasing him to touch them. Her exhaustion and injury worried him that someone had pushed her to her limits, and he wanted to know who had done that to her. And why.

Her jeans hung too loosely on her already small frame. The lime green collared pullover looked as if it had once fit her to perfection but now was just a little baggy.

Banan threw open a door to one of the rooms on the second floor and pulled back the covers on the bed as Tristan walked inside. Gently he laid Sammi down, and not once did she even stir.

“What’s happened to her?” Jane asked in a soft, worry-filled voice. “That’s not the Sammi we saw four months ago.”

Across the bed Banan caught Tristan’s gaze and gave a slight nod. Tristan leaned down and gently lifted her sleeve and saw the ugly, puss-filled wound.

“We need her shirt off,” Tristan said as he looked at Jane and Banan.

Jane was quick to find scissors and cut the shirt off her sister. That’s when they got their first good view of the wound.

“That’s from a gunshot.” Banan’s voice was laced with fury and retribution.

Jane walked until she stood beside Tristan and gently touched Sammi’s wound. Jane’s eyes lifted to Banan. “I think it’s infected.”

“The stitching isna professional,” Tristan remarked. Then he frowned as he studied the uneven sutures. “It almost looks as if Sammi did them herself.”

Banan clenched his jaw. “She’s exhausted, starving, driving a car that isna hers, and she’s injured. Whatever secret she has, she willna give it up easily.”

“And I’m not going to give up until my sister is safe,” Jane said, straightening and daring her husband to argue.

Banan quickly lifted his hands. “I’m just stating a fact, my love. We’ll make sure that no matter what, she is taken care of.”

“We need Con to heal her,” Jane stated.

Before Banan could argue, Tristan said, “If Sammi doesna know who we are, it might be better if we clean this as best we can and only use Con as a last resort. After the fiasco with Denae and Kellan, the less Sammi knows, the better.”

“I agree,” Banan said.

Jane rolled her eyes, but her concern was palpable. “Let’s just get the wound seen to immediately.”

Tristan pulled the chair from the corner closer to the bed. “Get me some scissors, hot water, bandages, and I’ll need thread and a needle to stitch it again.”

“That’s it?” Jane cried. “She needs medicine. It’s infected.”

Banan took Jane’s hand and dragged her to the door. “We willna know the extent of the infection until we remove the stitches that are already there.”