Possessed by a Warrior
A dazzling dress is costing lives… The violent death of her uncle sends Chloe Anderson reeling. As co-executor of Jack’s will, she doesn’t expect a bejewelled wedding gown with a note warning her to trust only his business partner – dark, mysterious and sexy Sam Ralston.Chloe’s been burned in love, but never bitten and there’s something about Sam that keeps drawing her in. The attraction is mutual and it takes all of Sam’s willpower to hide his fangs. With Chloe’s career at stake and murderous thieves hot on their trail, the vampire vows to protect her. But can he save her from himself?
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âLook at me,â he said. âYouâre going to be okay. Iâm here,â Sam said.
He reached out, catching her hands gently in his. His skin was cool and wonderful, the gesture infinitely comforting.
Chloe met his eyes. A subtle shift came over his features, a tightening of the lips, his pupils eating up the steel-gray irises. There was concern there, but something else now, too. Desire. Possession. He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing the lightest of kisses across the back of her fingers.
The gesture was courtly, barely qualifying as a true kiss, but a flood of tingling arousal swamped her skin from head to foot. No one had ever touched her so intimately with so little flesh.
SHARON ASHWOOD is a novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the toy graveyard on her desk.
Sharon is the winner of the 2011 RITA>® Award for Paranormal Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.
For Mom, who taught me never to give up.
Contents
To love someone deeply gives you strength.
To be deeply loved gives you courage.
âLao Tzu
Chapter 1
Sam Ralston shed his robe, tossing it to the floor. Heâd done so a thousand times, in many contexts. Most involved women.
This time, however, he was staring at a wall of knives. They were eight inches in length, set about four inches apart, each point aimed straight out like the quills of an angry porcupine. In the half light, the blades gleamed softly, stainless steel polished to the understated efficiency of a showcase kitchen. The wall of blades blocked the room from end to end, leaving only a narrow gap near the ceiling.
Getting over the wall was his first challenge. Sam gave a derisive sound that wasnât quite a laugh. It echoed oddly in the otherwise bare room, adding nothing to the gray-on-gray atmosphere.
Trust La Compagnie des Morts to come up with an obstacle course designed to shred the runner right at the start. Everything that came after would be painful in the extreme, even for vampires.
But Sam was one of the Four Horsemen, La Compagnieâs crack unit named after the riders of the Apocalypse: Death, Plague, Famine and War. Units like theirs were called in after the CIA, the FBI, MI5 and all the rest of the international alphabet soup had failed to get results. Then they swept in and saved whatever needed saving.
As jobs went, the hours were bad but it was never boring.
Sam was War, and he was better than any trial the Company of the Dead could dream up. Heâd proven it, mission after mission. Nevertheless, the Company put all their operatives to the test every so often, which was why he was standing in their Los Angeles facility, wearing nothing but running shorts, sneakers and fangs.
He flexed his knees and leaped. The gap was too narrow to land on top of the wallâthat would have been far too easy. Instead, Sam caught the edge with his right hand, forcing himself to pause in a kind of one-armed pushup before he swung his feet onto the ledge. He felt the muscles in his shoulder and stomach bunch to hold his weight. The maneuver was almost perfect, but one blade kissed his left calf, leaving a trail of blood to snake down his leg and into his shoe. He cursed, mentally docking himself a point.
Without pausing at the top, he flung himself onto the mat on the other side. Wooden arrows hummed through the air, whispering against the back of his neck, skimming his chest right above the heart. He rolled, grabbing a SIG Sauer from the rack on the wall and taking out the two mechanical bowmen within seconds. He dropped the gun, knowing there were only two bullets inside. Miss once, and heâd be staked.
Dispassionately, Sam scanned the room for the next course on the menu. The room was lined in more stainless steel, and he could track his movements in a blurry reflection. Dark hair, gray eyes, a body coiled more like a beast than a man. No more emotion than a machine.
He heard a door open, and an enormous wolf bounded forward. A werewolf, actually. Famine, one of the other Horsemenâbut the fact they worked together didnât mean Kenyon would give him an inch. For the first time, Sam felt his stomach tighten. Everything so far had been a test of strength or coordination. Kenyon, on the other hand, had a very crafty mind.
The wolf stopped a few paces away, crouching with a warning growl. Pale gold eyes raked over Sam, sending an electric prickle across his shoulders. He growled right back, feeling the low rumble in his chest. His fangs were down, adrenaline bringing out his own beast. His calf stung from the knife wound, and he could smell the blood, the coppery scent almost, but not quite, like a humanâs. From the gray wolfâs twitching nose, heâd noticed it, too.
