The Darkest Warrior Read online

  Though I admit I've thought about our interactions a lot. Most of the time, you were Ice Man. Other times you were nice, despite the demon. What gives?

  Anyway. I'm tempted to sneak into the Connacht compound and do a little spying. I mean, how would you feel if you returned, and I'd already taken care of your brother? Would you thank me with a little bond severing? Or resent me?

  Gillian the Dune Raider

  PS: Did you know Sin is engaged to your former fiancee?

  422 years AB

  Dear Puck,

  I've decided you're never coming back, I do indeed hate you again and I'm destined to die without ever having an orgasm. At least I've made a new friend. Remember the chimera-POS who broke my hand the day you abandoned me in Amaranthia? (Soon after YOU broke my finger??) Well, about two-and-a-half years ago, her great-great-granddaughter gave birth to a baby boy. A little runt who has come close to death more times than I like to admit. Momma wanted nothing to do with baby--the POS gene is strong in this bloodline, I suppose--so I took over his care.

  His name is Peanut, and he looks at me as if I'm the Amaranthian version of Santa Claus, and every day is Christmas. He's jealous of Winter, Cameron, Johanna and Rosaleen, and any other chimera I attempt to ride.

  Tomorrow, his training begins. He's going to be my warhorse.

  I guess I owe you a debt of gratitude, Puck. If you hadn't brought me here, I wouldn't have met him. I wouldn't have trained, and strengthened, and grown. I wouldn't be this happy, or have a family of my own.

  Okay, okay. I don't actually hate you. And I know chimeras only live for about two hundred years, and I'll lose my Peanut at some point--unless I find a way to make him immortal, of course.

  WHERE ARE YOU??? Where's William? I kinda sorta miss you both. I regret how things ended. I want to talk to you guys. Please, Puck. Hurry home.

  Gillian the Dune Raider

  PS: Keep me waiting much longer, and Pucky gonna get stucky--with a sword.

  17

  501 years AB

  Puck stepped through a final doorway, entering Amaranthia. Just as before, magic brushed against his skin and filled his veins, thrilling him. Unlike before, he didn't use magic to transform into his natural form; he had no desire to impress William.

  Reveling in his beloved homeland, Puck breathed in deeply. Tepid sunbeams shone upon the sea of sand. He glanced up. A storm brewed, the sky redder than usual. As Gillian must have learned, Amaranthian storms were extremely dangerous.

  Gillian...

  He wouldn't think about her...or how he would see her, breathe her in, touch her. Those thoughts would make him harden--well, harder--and Indifference would...what? Puck waited, his ears twitching, but the demon had gone quiet.

  Anger coursed through him at the thought of Gillian being bothered by the dark presence. Anger he ignored as he forced his mind on the weather. In winter, hoarfrost covered everything, becoming a metaphor for his life. Spring brought warm days and rampant rains that produced daggerlike hail. In summer, lakes and ponds gradually dried out, and acid occasionally poured from the sky. During fall, the days fluctuated between too hot, too cold and perfect.

  He'd returned in the middle of spring.

  There was no campsite within sight, and no bodies of water nearby. No one waited nearby with transportation, either.

  No matter. He could run.

  "You brought my little Gilly Gumdrop to a dump like this?" William demanded.

  My Gilly Gumdrop! Mine!

  No one had ever tried his legendary patience like this male. How could Gillian stand him? The irreverent bastard complained about everything, took nothing seriously and never under any circumstances missed an opportunity to taunt Puck.

  "There is no better realm. And when Gillian is no longer mine, you can take her wherever you'd like." He wouldn't be bothered by it, either. Not in the slightest degree. "If she decides to go with you, of course. Did I forget to tell you? Time passes differently here. I'm guessing five hundred years have passed for my wife. She might have forgotten all about you."

  With a hiss, William palmed a dagger and pressed the tip into the pulse at the base of Puck's throat. "You did not just say five--hundred--years."

  "I did." He blinked at the male, unfazed by the weapon. "Gillian is now half a millennium old."

  Flickers of red in those blue, blue eyes, like rivers of lava cracking the surface of a volcano. "The girl I left better be the girl I find. She was perfect, just the way she was. If the centuries have changed her..."

  "You mean you want her to be the girl who chose me over you?" Two could taunt. "In that regard, I'm certain she's the same." A lie. He was certain of nothing.

  Another hiss, the blade digging deeper. A bead of blood dribbled down his torso.

  "Either strike or back off," Puck said. "Gillian awaits."

  A tense pause. Then, with a great show of reluctance, William lifted the dagger.

  "This way." Eager, Puck jetted forward.

  The other male remained close on his heels. Having a vengeful immortal at his back was foolish, lethally so, but at the moment he didn't exactly care. So close to seeing my wife...

  This time, he couldn't push thoughts of her from his mind. How would she react when she spotted him? How would she react when she spotted William?

  A sudden and soul-deep ache threatened to rend Puck's chest in two.

  "You're wrong, you know," he said. "She wasn't perfect back then. She was afraid of males and intimacy." Although, there at the end, she'd kissed him as if she wanted--needed--more.

  Will kiss her again. Will--

  William snarled, reminding him of Indifference. "How do you know she was afraid of intimacy?"

  He hiked a shoulder in a shrug. "The subject came up."

  "As long as it was the only thing that came up," William snapped.

  No, William of the Dark. I hardened for her every day we were together. Now I harden for her even when we're apart.

  "The abuse she suffered as a child...worse than you can imagine," William said. "And she suffered for years! With no one to help her, she ran away and lived on the streets--because the streets were safer. That is the girl you use against me."

  Puck's butterfly tattoo scorched his skin on a downward slide to his leg as he grappled with remorse, with self-loathing so strong he wasn't sure he'd ever be free of it.

  "Enough chatter," he croaked. He increased his speed, arms pumping and legs eating up the distance.

  William never lagged, a feat few had managed when up against Puck.

  When they came upon his camp, he had to do a double take. Tents had been replaced by homes made of stone and wood.

  Men meandered about, each dressed in a tunic and sheepskin pants. Fashion hadn't changed, at least. There were no women in sight. No sign of Gillian, or even Winter. The females must be inside the homes, cooking and cleaning.

  "How quaint. A sausage fest. My least favorite of all the fests," William said with a dry tone. "If any of these bastards touched my girl--"

  "My girl." Puck closed his eyes for a moment and breathed, doing everything in his power to stop the erosion of his control. Not mine. Never mine. He'd chosen vengeance. War over a woman. He would not stray from his path.

  Better off alone. No family, no chance of betrayal.

  He scanned every face, but found no sign of Cameron, either.

  "Where is she?" William demanded.

  "I will find out." Puck approached a man who sat in front of a roasting coinin. Cooking? A duty usually performed by females. Except when those females were vegetarian, and made bargains with their husbands, of course. "You."

  The man glanced over at him, and darted to his feet, eyes going wide. "My lord. You're back."

  "Where is my wife? For that matter, where are Cameron and Winter?" He was--not impatient, but close to it; he was ready to read the detailed history Cameron had written, and find out everything that had happened in his absence.

  The color drained fro
m the other male's cheeks. "She...they...they all moved, my lord. Took all our women with them."

  A fresh surge of fury radiated from William as he sidled next to Puck. "He didn't ask you what they'd done. He asked you where they were. Answer!"

  "Do not intimidate my subjects," Puck snapped. To the man, he said, "I didn't ask you what they'd done. I asked you where they were."

  The man gulped and pulled at the collar of his tunic. "To the east, my lord. They're part of a new clan. One that raids other camps, kills soldiers and steals magic. They've caused a war between...everyone."

  Things had gotten worse since his departure, not better?

  "My good mood is deteriorating at a rapid rate," William said, his tone nothing but menace. "Either someone produces Gillian, or I--"

  "Will throw a tantrum," Puck interjected. "Yes, I know. Instead, why don't you do what you do best and screw anything with a pulse. I'll hunt for my wife and figure out what's going on."

  *

  "Have I told you how badly you suck?" Winter asked with genuine cheer.

  "Many times." Gillian blew her friend a kiss--with her middle finger. "You should try thanking me. I'm fixing your mistake, aren't I?"

  "No, you're saving Johanna. There's a difference. I just wish we could go in guns blazing."

  "Me, too." Unfortunately, guns didn't work in Amaranthia. Something about the magic being incompatible, blah, blah.

  Two days ago, Clan Walsh had captured one of Gillian's generals. Considering the Walshes were douchebags--men who believed women were less important than cattle--she would make the sands run red with their blood tonight.

  Steal from me and suffer.

  When roars and snarls suddenly sounded in her mind, she snarled. Indifference had returned. He liked to pop in every couple decades, drive her insane and take off.

  Ignore him or go insane. No other choices.

  "Just so you know," Winter said, "I never made mistakes before I met you."

  Snort. "You made them, all right. People were too afraid to tell you."

  Gillian pressed her body deeper into the crest of the sand dune, and tightened the camo scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. The thin material protected her from biting winds and sprays of sand. Since waking up this morning, she'd been inundated with impatience. For Johanna's situation, of course, but could there be more?

  Here she was, about to save her friend. But rather than anticipation, she felt dread, her nerve endings wrecked.

  Indifference only made it worse.

  "Why aren't you too afraid to point out my flaws? Not that I have any flaws. Is it because you've seen me in my Wonder Woman Underoos? That's it, isn't it?" The lovely keeper of Selfishness was stretched out beside her. "And why are we doing this, anyway? We have a no-rescue policy for a reason. I remember all those pesky traps, tricks and ambushes. Do you?"

  She waited, knowing her friend was far from done.

  "If other clans find out we're willing to go to war to save a general nowhere near as beloved or powerful as the Dune Raider's second in command--me," Winter added, as if clarification was needed, "they're more likely to abduct our clanswomen."

  Gillian sighed. The crux of the matter? Selfishness felt slighted, because no one had tried to capture her. "On the other hand, other clans will be more likely to abduct our women if we do nothing. They need to know there are consequences if they mess with us." Severe consequences.

  "And if we're walking into an ambush today?"

  "It's not an ambush if we know it's an ambush. It's an opportunity." Resisting an opportunity wasn't part of Winter's skillset.

  Bingo. The beauty now seethed with eagerness.

  Walshes gonna die bloody.

  Though both Shawazons were loaded with weapons, the deadliest one pulsed in their hands. Gillian extended an arm, moonlight glinting off the runes branded from fingertip to wrist. So pretty. The twisting, twining lines had become a portal, allowing magic to enter her body whenever she made a kill.

  Magic was power, and power was everything.

  Never again would she be a helpless little girl, pretending to sleep while the scum of the earth violated her in the worst ways, or, when she couldn't pretend, doing everything commanded of her, hoping her abuser would finish quickly.

  Never again would she be too afraid to fight back.

  "So, what's the plan?" Winter asked.

  "Basically we're going to free Johanna and wreak havoc."

  "Nice. Havoc is my specialty."

  Deciding to sneak in and out of the enemy camp rather than charge full force, they'd come without backup. Gillian had even left her beloved and faithful war chimera, Peanut, at home. Guaranteed, he was pouting, eating her furniture and biting anyone who dared approach him.

  She sighed and studied the camp. One hundred and fifty-four tents were set in rows, allowing neighbors to keep an eye on each other. Crackling fire pits were strategically placed as well, each one supplying light for four tents.

  This was a mobile outpost. Meaning, the occupants could pack up and vanish in minutes.

  Soldiers patrolled the outside perimeter, ready to ring a gong at the first sign of trouble. Other soldiers patrolled between the tents.

  By attacking the site, the Shawazons declared war on the entire Walsh clan.

  Actually, by imprisoning Johanna, a Shawazon general, the Walshes had already declared war. Sure, Johanna had invaded their territory while playing truth or dare with Winter, but she hadn't done it to make trouble. Only to steal a kiss from a handsome stranger.

  For that, the Walshes thought to torture Johanna? Think again.

  No woman left behind. Even if Gillian had to risk everything.

  So other (former) Shawazons had betrayed her in the past, and set traps for her. So what? Johanna, she trusted. They shared a similar background and had talked about their experiences, helping to build each other up.

  One of the first things Johanna had said to her, after Gillian had shared the worst of her abuse--I believe you.

  Her own mother hadn't believed her.

  Then Johanna had added, What happened wasn't your fault. You know it. They know it. And now your body is a weapon. Never again can someone use your weapon against you.

  That day, something inside Gillian had changed, the truth had been snapping into place. The abuse had never been her fault. She'd been an innocent child placed in the care of an uncaring man. No look in her eyes had welcomed him. He alone carried the blame for his actions, now and always, and she would never accept such a terrible burden again.

  When the heavy weight had lifted off her shoulders, she'd wanted to cry. So badly she'd wanted to cry in relief and fury and a thousand other emotions she'd been unable to name. But her tears had remained at bay. Maybe she'd shed too many over her mortal life and had no more to give. Even still, the lack hadn't stopped a tide of longing from springing to life. She'd wanted Puck's strong arms wrapped around her, holding her close. Wanted his warm breath to be a caress on her skin as he whispered words of comfort. Wanted the softness of his fur, so different from any contact she'd ever before known, to warm her.

  Hoping to rid herself of such unwise desires, she'd gone searching for damning information about his past. Youthful misdeeds. Betrayals. Anything! Except, when she heard about the wars he'd won, the warriors he'd fought, the men who'd wanted to be him and the women who'd hoped to tame him, she'd admired him--and only missed him more.

  Of course, she'd also found out he'd once had a crush on Winter, and she'd Hulked-out. Which made no sense! What did a past crush matter? Unless he still wanted the keeper of Selfishness?

  Uh-oh. Familiar prickles on the back of her neck, heating skin. Inhale, exhale. Good, that was good. No reason to Hulk-out here, of all places. She'd run out of cuisle mo chroidhe syrup and hadn't had a chance to harvest more.

  "Um, do I need to run for my life?" Winter asked.

  "No. I'll be fine." Maybe. Hopefully.

  As Indifference roared with
more force, she moved her gaze up, up. Three moons glowed in the purple-red sky she'd come to adore, partially shielded by an array of storm clouds. Any moment, ice daggers would begin to fall.

  "Almost time." What if she was too late? What if--

  No! Unacceptable thought process. All would be well.

  Winter kissed the handle of her favorite dagger. One she'd stolen from Puck's brother, when he'd dared to venture from his fortress of solitude. "Whoever kills the most soldiers wins. Loser has to admit the winner is superior."

  "Deal," she said with a note of affection.

  Her friendship with Winter hadn't formed overnight, or even over a decade, but it had formed. Now there was no one Gillian would rather have by her side.

  She wondered, though. When--if--Puck ever returned, would Winter's allegiance change?

  "Thinking about hubby dearest again?" her friend asked.

  "Ex-hubby dearest. There's a statute of limitations on an uncontested unofficial divorce, right?" And yet, still she avoided dating other men. Though she wanted a boyfriend and romantic dinners, gift exchanges. Dancing and laughing. Long, lingering glances. Tender smiles. All the things girls dreamed of receiving from an admirer. All the things she'd been denied throughout her life. First, because of fear, then an unwanted marriage.

  But, if she got cozy with someone else after hunting and killing males who'd betrayed their wives, she would be a hypocrite.

  She also killed hypocrites.

  Winter bumped her shoulder. "You always tense like you're about to be hit by my fists of fury. Don't worry. He'll come back. Indifference causes him to lose focus sometimes, or stop caring about his objective, but he always finds his way sooner or later."

  "Shouldn't his kingdom be an exception?"

  "Nothing is an exception with Indifference. Except maybe..." Winter's voice trailed off.

  "What?"

  Her friend shrugged and said, "Except maybe you. The way he looked at you before he left... I thought I would combust. I've never seen such intensity from him before."

  A tendril of pleasure unfurled. Which was ridiculous!

  Her body might burn for Puck some nights--most nights...fine, all nights nowadays--and he might beleaguer her dreams, but she wasn't going to mess around with him when he returned. She'd known him, what? All of five minutes? And too well did she recall the ease with which he'd moved from Ice Man to smoldering, back to Ice Man. No doubt he'd heat up if he got her into bed, only to freeze her out afterward. No, thanks. Gillian expected, and deserved, to feel respected afterward.