CHAPTER ONE
His blood. The last thing he’d seen was the thick liquid of it spiling through his fingers and onto the ground that rushed up to greet him as he fel.
Max clawed his way out of the engulfing darkness, toward the light of consciousness that beckoned just out of reach. It took al of his wil. He was surprised at how daunting a task it was just to wake himself. He hated surprises. They never turned out wel.
It felt as though he’d been sleeping for weeks. Years. Such a deep slumber was one a true warrior rarely afforded himself.
Never in fact. And Max was a warrior. Trained from infancy. His father had ensured, as he’d done with al the future guardians he mentored, that his son stayed ever as sharp as his blade, alert to any and al dangers. To protect himself and al those in his care.
He roled onto his side and groaned at the effort it took and the pain that folowed. No sharp blade now. Max’s thoughts were more like blunt, heavy rocks, al of them faling toward the question of how. How had he been caught unawares?
He searched for some clue of where he was, of whether or not he was alone. His eyes refused to cooperate, but he reached out with his other senses and heard nothing beyond his own rough breathing. Scented nothing but the cold, dank wals of the tunnel and his own blood. Had the god of the storm come back from his eternal prison to punish al those who had defied him? It wasn’t as if the Great Mother’s son hadn’t tried to kil him before. And this certainly had the taint of his kind of magic, the way Max could hardly tear his mind away from his dreams… such strange dreams.
Images jumbled out of time and place. His childhood. Sparring with the other warriors. Training. His time with the Trueblood vampires.
Amidst al those memories there were other visions. Visions of a place he didn’t recognize. Smoke and mirrors filed with life.
And the woman. Always there, standing just out of reach, tempting him. Tormenting him with her beauty and the compassion in her eyes.
At first Max had thought she was Jesse, the human raised demigod that he’d sworn in blood to protect. He’d wanted her for his own as soon as she came to Haven looking to see if the world of her dreams was real. Not that he’d ever stood a chance with her; she had always belonged to his best friend, Kittim. But this woman in his mind wasn’t Jesse. The redhead in Max’s dreams was far more fragile than the curvaceous photographer. Vulnerable.
He shouldn’t be thinking of her. He should be attempting to contact Kittim. Kit. The friend he had shared so much with, the cousin he had faced down a god with. That’s what he should be thinking of. His oaths. His vows. He needed to get back to fulfil his duty. Protect them al.
He just had to find out where he was.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position with a low growl.
His hands slid in fresh blood. His own. Had less time passed than he’d imagined? One hand reached up to his side, touching the wound that already appeared to be bandaged. His heavy lids finaly lifted and he saw, as if through a veil, the narrow passage that surrounded him.
Every muscle in his body tightened and the hair on the nape of his neck bristled with instinct. This was not where he’d falen. It looked like it. Felt like it. Even smeled like it. But it was…wrong.
More than his tended wound told him so.
The disembodied female voice confirmed his suspicions.
“You’re in no danger. But you’re also in no shape to protect anyone. Go back to sleep, my darling Maximus. Do not resist me; you stil need to heal.”
Resist? It was difficult to imagine anyone being able to resist that voice. It was softly aluring, gently sensual. It was her. The woman from his dreams. Her words wrapped around him like a lover and when they stopped, al Max wanted was to hear her speak again. Cal him her darling.
What the hel was wrong with him?
“Where am I?” His voice was rough and rasping from lack of use, his throat raw. And where is she?
Great Mother, he was in pain. He reasoned that he wouldn’t feel any pain at al if he were dead. That, at least, was a smal sort of consolation.
He heard her sigh. Felt it like a breeze coming from the exit of the tunnel. A breath of fresh air. Perhaps she spoke from the entranceway. “I feel your distress. Trust me, please, Igigi, you are not dead and this is far from Hel. No one wil hurt you here. “ Igigi. He was Igigi , a member of an ancient and honorable race. Quite literaly giants in the world of men. He’d been a guardian for the Mediator of the Trueblood vampires, Zander Sariel. Only death would keep him from that duty. So if he wasn’t dead, then where was he?
The last thing he remembered was the tunnel. Only that one was no ilusion. It had led from the woods toward the estate of the deranged Trueblood elder, Abaddon. Max had gone there searching for Deva Clan leader and newest council member, Nicolette. The Unborn vampire had been taken, though he wasn’t sure why, and he’d gone to retrieve her. He’d left the Sariel children within the protected confines of Haven to do so. He could stil remember the tinge of sadness he’d felt when he saw their sober expressions. They were too young to know so much worry.