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Authors: Annette McCleave

BOOK: Surrender to Darkness
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He returned her stare for a moment. “Aye.”
“But she does not fight as you do, like a typhoon of power and anger. There is something unique about you.”
“I’m what the Norse call a berserker. At certain times, I am consumed by a warrior rage that knows only battle.” He paused. “Most of the time, the rage is tightly leashed, but when my berserker is set free, I am no longer in control. He is.”
Sora nodded.
“Onimusha.”
“Sorry. My Japanese is nonexistent.”
Kiyoko smiled. “An
onimusha
is a fierce warrior with an internal demon.”
Murdoch shrugged. “That’s as good a description as any. Is that why you brought me here? To discuss my berserker?”
“Not precisely.” Sora inclined his head toward Kiyoko. “We are interested in the reason you lost control of your berserker at the restaurant.”
A rueful smile graced the big warrior’s lips. “That makes three of us.”
“And we wish to know whether it was a unique event.”
Murdoch’s gaze returned to Kiyoko. Curiosity and a touch of amusement lay in the depths of his eyes. “What did you tell him?”
Struggling to tame a blush, Kiyoko said, “The truth. That in a single brief touch I was able to sense the fierce power lying dormant in your body, and that a burst of that power then flowed into me.”
His lips twisted wryly. “I see.”
Kiyoko’s gaze dropped to her feet.
Oh, my
. Had he felt the same arousal? The same burning need to press hot damp skin against hot damp skin? That was beyond uncomfortable.
Sora’s eyes narrowed. “Was your experience different from Kiyoko-san’s, Mr. Murdoch?”
“Aye.”
Kiyoko closed her eyes. If he admitted having similar feelings, if he went into any kind of detail at all, she would never be able to look Sora in the face again.
“Wasn’t the same at all,” Murdoch said quietly. “I didn’t get a blast of energy. I just fell immediately into my berserker rage. It swallowed me whole, in the blink of an eye.”
Kiyoko released the breath she was holding. Lifting her eyes, she met Murdoch’s again.
His expression was unreadable.
“Have you experienced a similar reaction in the past?” Sora asked.
“No. This was a first.”
“Then, with your cooperation,” said Sora, “we would like to test your unique connection with Kiyoko-san. To see if we can duplicate it.”
Murdoch glanced at Kiyoko’s hands, then back to her face. Something hot now burned in his eyes, and Kiyoko knew without a single doubt that he’d shared her intimate reaction to their touch. And that he was recalling the sensations in vivid detail. Every last one of them.
Murdoch kindly released her gaze and turned back to Sora. “Will I get my five minutes alone with Miss Ashida if I agree?”
Annoyed that he’d made his request of Sora, Kiyoko answered sharply, “Yes.”
He smiled faintly. “Fine. I’ll play guinea pig. Shall we go outside?”
“We’ll adjourn to the dojo,” Sora said. “Plenty of open space there.” He peered over his shoulder. The nine young warriors were seated at a nearby table, eating breakfast and monitoring the discussion with wary eyes. At his nod, they abandoned their meal and left the building.
Sora, Kiyoko, and Murdoch followed.
The dojo stood across the courtyard from the great hall, a wide-open structure with slatted wood floors worn smooth by thousands of bare feet. The
senshi
, now garbed in traditional armor, bowed as a unit when they entered.
Murdoch frowned at their presence.
“Please forgive our precautions,” Sora said to him. “This is a dangerous test, and I cannot allow Kiyoko-san to be injured.”
Immediately Murdoch’s expression cleared. “Aye.”
“Good. Shall we start? Please take off your jacket.”
Murdoch did not respond.
Sora smiled. “It is an effort to preserve your limited collection of possessions, Mr. Murdoch.”
The Soul Gatherer unzipped his coat, peeled it off, and tossed it on the floor.
“Your weapon as well, please,” the sensei requested. “We need no unnecessary injuries.”
It was Kiyoko’s turn to frown. What weapon? She had not noted any weapon, and even with determined study, she could not see one.
Murdoch put a hand to his side and with a soft slither of honed steel, drew a sword from a scabbard. An invisible scabbard. He handed the blade to one of the
senshi
, then turned to Kiyoko. “If you see my face turn red, it means my berserker is about to make an appearance. Don’t argue, don’t hesitate. Just get out of my way as quickly as you can.”
Sora smiled again. “If Kiyoko-san permits a strike, I will be very surprised, Mr. Murdoch. She has been training with me for many years.”
Murdoch did not smile in return. If anything, his expression grew more intense. He tapped his broad chest with his finger and said, “Immortal reflexes, plus berserker strength. Trust me. You can be the fastest human on the planet, and you’re going to have trouble escaping me. Put those nine lads between me and you first chance you get. Understand?”
Kiyoko nodded. Raising a magical shield might also be wise.
“Lord, I have a bad feeling about this,” Murdoch muttered, striding to the middle of the room.
Kiyoko followed.
When it was just the two of them in the center of the dojo, he glanced at her. In a low, barely audible voice he said, “Look, lass. My berserker is a tad old-fashioned, and it has this crazy notion that you belong to him. I’ve really no idea what will happen when I touch you again. Modern women like to be tough. I understand that, even admire it. But do me a very big favor and let go of your damned pride, just for today. If you think for one instant that I’m going berserk, please run.”
It was a strong speech, driven by a combination of gruff honesty and deep-seated honor. And it made Kiyoko’s heart flip-flop in her chest. Especially the words
belong to him
.
He gave her another of those piercing stares. This one dark with worry. Then he stuck out his big hand, sighed heavily, and said, “Bloody hell. Let’s give it a go, then.”
4
M
urdoch tried to shake off a sense of foreboding. Learning why he’d lost control at the restaurant was vital, but this experiment was ten kinds of crazy. Some sort of strange, mystical friction existed between him and this woman. Last time, Kiyoko had rendered him weak-kneed and defenseless in an instant. This time? It could be worse.
He wanted to believe he wouldn’t hurt her.
But his faith was shaken. His berserker was incredibly possessive around her. It rumbled in his chest even now. All he had to do was breathe in her soft floral scent and those primitive throw-her-over-your-shoulder thoughts would come racing back, pounding at him with every beat of his heart. The beast didn’t have a conscience. It wouldn’t cry any tears over her demise.
“Let us put some form to this connection, Kiyoko,” Sora said. “Start by touching a clothed part of his body.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise—” Her palm flattened against his chest for a moment, a firm press of warmth that was swiftly gone. Murdoch held his breath, waiting for the explosion of sensation. But it never came. He relaxed. It was possible the incident in the restaurant had been a fluke.
“Now try flesh to flesh.”
Murdoch braced himself again, but felt nothing. Long moments passed. He opened an eye and peered at Kiyoko.
“Have you changed your mind?”
“No.” She stood loose and limber, no sign of stress. Her shiny black hair was pulled back off her face and tied in a ponytail. The practical hairdo underscored her femininity with an uncluttered display of her delicate features. In that loose white outfit, she looked so slender and small that an aching tension rose in his chest again.
He lowered his arm.
“Well, I have. This is a damned foolish idea.”
Before his hand had fallen to his side, Kiyoko stepped in smoothly, touched his fingers, and spun away.
The stages of his descent occurred in exactly the same order: first the screaming-hot desire, then the unbearable drive to possess, and finally the headlong pitch into berserker rage. But they happened faster and burned ten times fiercer.
Murdoch actually heard himself snarl the word
“mine”
before he lost all rational thought and grabbed for Kiyoko.
 
Kiyoko had purposely tried to re-create the unexpected nature of the touch—a glancing, chance encounter. But she was completely unprepared for the dramatic change Murdoch underwent.
One moment he was honorably offering to cancel the experiment, the next he was snarling
“mine”
and reaching for her with blurred speed. Had her reflexes not been honed by real battle with supernatural demons, she might not have evaded his grasp. As his hand whipped out to grab her, she fell back, rolled to the left, and sprang to her feet on the other side of the row of
senshi
. Even as she rolled, she murmured the words of a second-level
onmyōji
shield spell.
Good thing, because speed alone would not have kept her safe.
Murdoch barreled through the line of warriors, knocking two aside with a wide sweep of his huge arm, their flimsy first-level shield spells buckling under his onslaught. Uncaring that their katanas sliced into his white T-shirt, Murdoch remained focused on Kiyoko, and his feet followed his eyes. His face was flushed, his eyes glassy, but his attention was unwavering. He came at her like a dynamo of raw purpose and determination.
Several excellent offensive moves passed through her mind.
But she doubted she could hold the fierce Soul Gatherer off. Especially with her insides still quivering like jelly from the aftereffects of his touch—a part of her actually yearned for him to reach her.
She swiftly scuttled back, keeping clear of Murdoch’s grasp and leaving the attacking to the four upright
senshi
, who promptly leapt after the huge warrior. She did not leave the dojo. To do so would encourage Murdoch to follow, and letting him loose in the compound would only result in more damage.
Instead, she snatched up a bamboo practice sword from the rack on the side wall, ready to fend him off in any way necessary, and kept to the outer edge of the room. Relying on her shield spell would be foolish.
Sora, who was still standing precisely where he’d stood from the start, quietly ordered the warriors to put away their weapons. “His berserker will remain in full control as long as there is potential danger. Continue to stand between him and Kiyoko-san, but do not attack him.”
To the great credit of the
senshi
, they followed his orders, despite the obvious risk. Almost in unison, their katanas slithered back into their scabbards.
Immediately something changed in Murdoch.
A little less heat in his cheeks, perhaps. Or a little more awareness in his gaze. He remained centered on his objective, however, and shoved one of the unarmed
senshi
in the chest to reach her. The poor man flew four feet before landing on the wood floor with an audible grunt.
Kiyoko’s advantage lay in her agility. She dodged Murdoch’s lunge and with erratic moves kept several paces ahead of him as he chased her about the room. And every passing minute worked in her favor. Despite his continued interest in claiming her, without a visible threat Murdoch’s rage quickly cooled.
Less than five minutes after their touch, he abruptly stopped. He went from hot and raging to pale and trembling in just a few moments. As he glanced at the fallen
senshi
, rigid lines of self-disgust appeared on his face.
“Well, that was a royal fuckup.”
“I disagree,” Sora said. “No one is dead, Kiyoko is unharmed, and we have our answer.”
Murdoch raked the long waves of his brown hair back from his face. “I think your men might express a different opinion.”
The uninjured
senshi
were aiding their fallen brothers, two of whom cradled arms that were likely broken and all of whom were limping.
Sora bowed to the men, offering them his respect, then ordered them to the infirmary. “Do not berate yourself, Mr. Murdoch. They are used to battle. No man joins us who is not prepared to give his life. What we do is not for the faint of heart.”
“You should seek help as well, Mr. Murdoch,” Kiyoko said, pointing to his torso. Traces of blood were visible along the edges of the sliced fabric. Annoyingly, her eyes kept straying to the sweat-dampened material clinging to the steely muscles of his chest. “Stitches may be required.”
He shook his head. “Flesh wounds.”
His gaze lifted to meet hers and a dart of delicious warmth went right to her belly.
Flesh.
Oh, dear. He was feeling the same keen desire, the same sharp need. It was there in his eyes.

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