Warrior Untamed Read online

  He frowned. “Before? When?”

  “When I showed you Lance, and you—” Her words halted.

  When he’d kissed her, and stolen some of her energy. When she’d gotten him so damn aroused it had been the hardest thing for him to pull back. When their passion had, ever so briefly, made him feel and act like a different man.

  “When you put me to sleep,” she finished in a low voice. “You made Lexi go home, Lance was unconscious and I was out of it. You had every opportunity to leave. I couldn’t have done anything to stop you. You didn’t think about it?”

  “Oh, I thought about it,” he admitted, his lips twisting in a smile that held no humor. “Contrary to popular belief, I do actually keep my word. Every now and then,” he clarified. “But don’t worry. I figure there’s a cure for that.”

  She chuckled softly, and he nearly jumped when her hand brushed his in the darkness. “Maybe, Hunter, some things don’t need to be fixed.”

  He turned to her, wishing he could see her expression in the darkness. What exactly did she mean by that? Did she—did she mean that she thought he was...okay? That he wasn’t a completely irredeemable bastard?

  Her fingers tightened around his, and he sensed the tension radiating up her arm. “I just saw something move,” she whispered.

  He swung his head to the window, and caught a vague impression of a darker shadow, streaked with gray, moving at speed. Then the glass window broke, and a dark mass exploded into the diner, barreling toward them.

  * * *

  Melissa didn’t have time to scream before Hunter shoved her down along the seat. He rolled over the top of the table, legs lashing out, and she heard a grunt—although whether that came from Hunter or whatever the hell was in the diner with them, she couldn’t say.

  By the time she peered up over the rim of the table, Hunter was grappling with a figure. It was about the same height as Hunter, but bulkier. That was about as much as she could make out. She saw the light blur as Hunter’s fists struck out, his torso a paler shadow in the dimness.

  She heard flesh strike flesh, and the figure stumbled back against the table, before righting itself, squaring up against Hunter. Melissa didn’t think. She climbed up on the seat and launched herself at the back of the creature.

  She hit with enough force it shocked her as much as the creature she tackled, and they both crashed down to the floor.

  “Melissa,” Hunter yelled, and light flared.

  Melissa blinked at the sudden brightness dispelling the dark, and the creature beneath her recoiled, covering its face. She could feel the muscles move beneath her, and she frowned. She looked up at Hunter. He had a small fireball in his hand and was raising his arm as though to hurl it.

  “No, wait!” she cried, flinging up her hand.

  Hunter’s eyes widened midswing, and he had to jerk back, pulling his fireball with him.

  “What the hell?”

  “I think—I think it’s human,” Melissa said, levering herself off the figure beneath.

  The figure curled up on its side, hiding its face from the light, but she could feel the frame beneath the heavy garb. Definitely human.

  “It attacked us,” Hunter rasped, his fireball churning and writhing in on itself, as though fueled by fury.

  The figure on the floor shook visibly, and it emitted a garbled noise, somewhere between a keening wail and a harsh sob.

  “Hey, shh,” Melissa crooned, reaching out tentatively to touch his back. She could finally see enough of it, in the light cast by Hunter’s fiery glow, to see that it was a man. Long, dark, oily hair, face and hands covered in grime, and a stench that could make your eyes water.

  “My house,” the man sobbed, curling into the fetal position and rocking. “My house, my house.” He kept crying it, holding his knees tight, his eyes squeezed shut.

  Melissa sighed as she backed away. “He lives here,” she whispered.

  “He still tried to kill us,” Hunter said, his eyes narrowed as the fireball flared in his hands.

  “You’re scaring him,” she snapped as the man on the floor whimpered. She flicked her fingers, using her signature dampening spell to turn Hunter’s fireball into smoke.

  Hunter turned on her, his face angry. “You need to stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?” She hissed at him. “Stop you from setting everyone who threatens you on fire?”

  “No, you need to stop thinking I will back down from a fight just because you want me to,” he grated at her. “I’m not some torch for you to flick on or off at whim. I’m a light warrior, damn it. Fire, light, this is who I am.”

  She gestured to the vagrant on the floor who was still rocking, but his sobs had quieted down to hiccups. “This is who you are? Some big bully who uses his powers against those weaker than himself?” She didn’t want to remember what he was like. She wanted to hold on to the guy who healed her ankle, who would talk quietly and hold her hand in the dark.

  “If someone comes after me, or those I—” He halted for a moment, his fierce gaze wandering over her face before he swallowed, and continued, “or those I am with, I will fight back.”

  Her eyes narrowed. That wasn’t what he’d been about to say. As though sensing her suspicion, her doubt, he stepped up to her, his expression ruthless. “I can heal, but don’t mistake that for weakness, Red. I can also destroy. Yin and yang, baby. You don’t get one without the other. You need to remember that.”

  “Why?” she whispered, her gaze trying to read his emotions behind the rigid mask he was now using.

  “Because I am not my Goody Two-shoes brother, or some noble knight. Never was, never will be. So stop looking at me like that’s what you want me to be, and neither of us will be disappointed.”

  He looked down at the man on the floor, then extinguished his fireball in an exasperated sigh. “Now you’ve ruined the buzz. Let’s go, before any of his friends decide to defend their territory.”

  He strode toward the broken window, glass crunching underfoot as he stepped through the opening. He paused on the street, and turned in one direction, then the other. His torn shirt framed his torso, and for a moment that was all she could see—an indistinct pale blur framed in darkness.

  “Which way to your brother’s?” he called softly, but she could hear the impatience in his voice. She gazed down at the figure on the floor, and winced.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, then jogged over to the window, stooping a little to avoid any jagged pieces of glass still in the frame. She glanced around briefly, trying to get her bearings. Old Irondell didn’t come with a map, and she was trying to figure out where her store was, and where they needed to head in order to get to her brother’s tattoo parlor.

  “This way,” she said finally, indicating right, and Hunter nodded, striding briskly down the street.

  She followed, but stopped short of catching up with him. Was he right? Had she started to think of him as a noble knight? The thought was laughable. Hysterical, even. Hunter Galen, her knight in shining armor.

  He had saved her life, though. Twice. And he’d saved Lance’s life—although that had been part of a bargain to earn his freedom. She watched him walk, his long legs eating up the distance in the darkness, the torn shirt swinging to reveal glimpses of pale skin in the darkness.

  Did she really expect him to behave differently? Was she trying to hold him to a forced, false ideal?

  An explosion shook the earth, and glass shattered in nearby windows. Hunter dived for her, tackling her to the ground and rolling her under him as bricks and crumbling mortar tumbled to the dark street around them, and Hunter covered her body with his, protecting her from any debris.

  It took a while for the dust to settle, but Hunter finally lifted his head. He gazed around in the darkness, his body tense, his expression alert. “What the hel
l was that?” he whispered.

  “It looks like your father found the door,” Melissa said, shrugging, although she didn’t try to hide the triumphant gleam in her eye.

  Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do, Red?” he inquired silkily.

  “I added some extra zing to the cloaking spell,” she admitted.

  His lips quirked. “You’re actually quite proud of yourself. What did you do, exactly?”

  “I added an element of reflection, and then magnified it.”

  His head tilted. “And for those of us not criminally witchified, what does that mean?”

  Melissa smiled. “It means that whatever your father threw at that door was reflected back at him, a hundredfold.” The light warriors may have set fire to her bookstore and apothecary, but she’d just flattened the building. “I’m hoping your father burned right along with it.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Sorry, but a light warrior can’t be killed by fire.” He levered himself off her, and held out his hand, pulling her to his feet. He gazed around the street. Broken glass, timber and bricks littered the area. It looked like a war zone. He shook his head, whistling soundlessly. “I am so turned on by you right now,” he admitted, eyeing the destruction.

  She rolled her eyes and started walking, stepping over a partial wall that had collapsed. “Let’s go.”

  She was trying not to think of the way he’d grabbed for her, covered her with his hard body to bear the brunt of any damage. He’d put his body between her and danger. Again.

  It would be easy to believe he was exactly as he claimed—a man who could kill or cure with no conscience.

  She realized her ankle didn’t hurt. At all.

  He’d healed her. He’d taken away her pain, and he’d protected her from a bomb of her own making. Was that good in him really just a front for his bad, or did that good go just a little bit deeper?

  Chapter 15

  Hunter plodded along, stopping every now and then to look at Melissa for guidance. She hung back, reluctant to walk beside him. He nodded to himself. This was for the better. Every time they encountered anyone, she expected him to behave like some damn hero.

  He was no hero. He did bad things. Most of the time to people who deserved it. He pursed his lips. He’d tried to be good, once. It didn’t work out. Even now, when he thought of Debbie he felt the instinctive shame, the guilt.

  He had to tell himself it wasn’t entirely his fault, what had happened to Debbie, but it was hard to break the cycle of self-hate. He had loved her. Well, he thought he’d loved her. It turned out he’d loved the false impression she’d made.

  He didn’t blame her, though. She’d been but a pawn in his father’s machinations. For a while, he’d hated her, and that had just increased the guilt a hundredfold when he’d discovered the truth. No, that blame fell squarely on his father’s shoulders. He clenched his jaw so hard it began to ache. His father had cost him so damn much.

  He and his brother had met Debbie at one of the many parties his father had thrown in his endeavors to force the powerful Reform elite to accept them into the higher echelons of society, but without revealing their true identities. As the only light warriors in Irondell, and as the head of the Armstrong family, Arthur Armstrong was by rights the Warrior Prime of their clan. It was ironic, really. His father craved the power, the recognition of being a Prime, but could never claim it without exposing the existence of light warriors to Reform society, and potentially making them vulnerable to attack. In his bid to be the strongest, his father’s secret in effect made him the weakest.

  So his father decided manipulation, deceit and trickery would be their stock-standard weapons when dealing with others, and had drilled those lessons into his sons.

  When Hunter had met Debbie, she’d been his kind of gal. He should have known there was no such thing, but, well, she’d convinced him otherwise. His brother had thought the same, though, and they’d fought bitterly over her. Debbie had eventually chosen Ryder.

  Yeah, well, the less time spent on those memories, the better. He kicked at a pebble in the darkness, and it skittered across the road, disappearing into the darkness. They’d come to another fork in the road. Every now and then a manhole in the tunnel roof let in weak moonlight. He turned around. He didn’t know how long they’d been walking for, but he was exhausted. He glanced up at the dark roof, spying the faint lightening of the gloom from what looked like a stormwater drain above him. The only light he had access to was moonlight, and it was weak, at that.

  “How far to your brother’s?” he asked Melissa as she came up to stand beside him. She looked around, her eyes narrowed as she peered through the gloom.

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Irondell and Old Irondell don’t share the same road map. I think maybe another half hour or so. If we’re going in the right direction.”

  His eyebrows rose. “If? What do you mean, if?”

  “Look around, Hunter. We can’t really ask anyone for directions.”

  Her tone was cool. She was still pissed about the homeless guy. He ducked his head. Not his finest moment, he must admit. Still, the guy had attacked them. He would not feel guilty for defending himself, or for defending Melissa. Maybe next time the guy would think about using his words first.

  He took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. “Which direction do you suggest we take, then?” he asked, keeping his tone mild.

  He could sense her movements in the dark. She was twisting this way, then that.

  Great. She had no clue.

  “I think—”

  A growl echoed down the street, and both of them froze. Now he could see the whites of her eyes in the darkness.

  Another growl rolled through the darkness. This time it was closer.

  Ah, crap.

  Ever so slowly he turned, and he reached out to grasp Melissa’s arm as she did the same. “Easy,” he whispered.

  They stared down the street, and Hunter edged them slowly, silently over to the side, closer to the wall of a building. He was tempted to light up the street, but figured that would seem more like an invitation for whatever was out there. Something farther down the street shifted. He could see the movement, but not the detail.

  He tried to push Melissa behind him, but she resisted, stepping up next to him. He frowned, but when he heard the pad of paws on the pavement he tugged on her, spinning around as something snarled and launched at his back. He fell to his knees, the scent of fur and something foul assailing him.

  Hunter hissed as teeth sank into his shoulder. Melissa screamed, but it was more from anger than fear, and then the creature flinched behind him. He heard the enraged snarl, felt the werewolf turn, as though getting ready to attack Melissa.

  “Come on,” Melissa yelled, and out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, as though she was about to attack the lycan.

  Hunter summoned his light force, and let it rain like cascading fire down his back. He heard the snarls turn into whimpers, and groaned as claws dug into his back momentarily as the lycan hunkered down, then jumped away from him.

  Hunter rolled over, hissing at the burn of torn flesh in his shoulder and back, and squinted, watching the lycan skitter away.

  Melissa curled her hands over, her teeth bared as she gritted out a spell in some archaic language, and the wolf recoiled. It stumbled back, panting, then flinched as Melissa raised one hand. She clenched her hand into a fist, then twisted it.

  Hunter flinched when he heard the bones crack, saw the lycan’s head twist, the neck snap at an unnatural angle, and then the lycan collapsed, its tongue lolling out, its eyes glazed and empty. Dead.

  Melissa hurried over to him and slid her hand around his neck. “Why didn’t you kill him?” she asked, her face pale and anxious as she smoothed his hair back from his brow.

  For t
hat moment, Hunter thought he was in heaven. It was either that or blood loss. Her clear worry, her tender touch... Then her words registered, and he frowned.

  “Don’t kill people, kill people,” he said, wincing as he tried to sit up. “Make up your mind, woman.”

  “I thought you weren’t my torch.” She put her arm around his back, helping him get upright. “For the record, shadow breeds are fair game.”

  “I’m a shadow breed,” he muttered as he rose to his feet. Damn, he hurt. His back felt like it was on fire.

  “As you say, you’re not perfect. Can you walk?”

  He started to nod, but stopped when the world tilted. “Yeah,” he lied.

  Melissa pulled his arm over her shoulders, and he chuckled when she nearly fell under his weight.

  “You’re falling for me,” he wheezed, then hissed as her arm moved around his back.

  She gasped. “Hunter, you’re bleeding, I can feel it.”

  He snorted as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. “Funny, so can I.”

  “We need to find some shelter. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the only stray in Old Irondell, and we don’t know what else might come out at the scent of blood.”

  Hunter grimaced. His vision was blurring, and his limbs were so heavy it was like he was wading through mud, but he could still recognize common sense when he heard it.

  His toe dragged across pavement, then metal, and he halted. “Here.” It was a drain in the gutter.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. It’ll be filthy. I need to get you someplace clean to patch you up. No, wait, you can heal yourself.”

  He shook his head, and then clung to Melissa like a drowning man to a life preserver. “I’m tapped out. I used a lot of energy in your bookstore, then on you, and all the friendly folk we’ve met in Old Irondell.” He swallowed. His mouth was so dry. “We need to hide—I can’t protect you at the moment.”

  Melissa gave an unladylike snort. “I think I’ve got this.” She slid his arm off her shoulders and stepped toward the drain. Without her support, Hunter stumbled, then fell to the ground, groaning softly as first his knees, then his palms, hit the pavement. She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh. Sorry.”