Midnight's Captive(2)

That was bad enough. Declan Wallace first used the X90 bullets a year ago. They wreaked unimaginable damage, keeping the Warriors from getting close to their enemies, where they could use their strength, speed, and deadly claws.

With the death of Declan, Charon had assumed knowledge of the X90s would fade into oblivion. But somehow Jason Wallace, Declan’s cousin, had not only managed to manufacture the X90s again, but also made them more powerful.

It wasn’t just the X90s, as Charon himself had learned. He’d taken the blade meant for Arran. The instant the dagger tore through his skin, he’d felt the sting of drough blood.

There had been an inferno inside him that ate away at his bones and shredded his insides. The soul-crushing, gut-wrenching agony had been too much to bear. He’d known he was going to die.

Many times he’d craved death, but as it sat staring at him, Charon realized he wasn’t ready to die. He wanted to live, if for no other reason than to kill Jason Wallace.

Charon looked down at the cut in his ruined navy pullover and flattened his lips. It was the other Warriors, the ones he’d kept his distance from who had saved him.

No one knew how or why another Warrior’s blood could counteract drough blood, but it did. They used their blood to help him hang on to life until they could reach MacLeod Castle and Sonya, a Druid who had amazing healing magic that could help him.

He owed her a debt that could never be repaid. Just as he owed Phelan, Arran, and the others for saving him.

Charon wasn’t the only one disturbed by the turn of events with the drough blood. Phelan’s blood, that could heal anything and anyone of any affliction, had no effect on Charon’s wound.

He’d seen Phelan’s worried frown. But Phelan departed MacLeod Castle before Charon had a chance to speak with him. Neither felt they belonged with the Warriors at the castle, which had formed a tight friendship between them.

It was an odd friendship, one neither Warrior could have seen coming, but they were bound together. And not just because they were immortal.

Charon knew Phelan would eventually show up to discuss what might have gone wrong when Charon hadn’t been healed by his blood. He wanted answers to give to Phelan, but what could he say when the power of the gods within them couldn’t help?

He ran a hand down his face and turned away from his building. There was too much on his mind for him to face those within. Especially Laura with her pale green eyes, eyes that pierced him to his very soul.

Charon walked down the hill, following the path he’d worn over the years. It meandered through the thick forest, dozens of other paths branching off along the way. He had many trails he’d used over the centuries, but there was only one place he wanted to be right now.

He came to the sixth fork in the path and turned left. Another three hundred yards and he halted, his gaze taking in the valley below him. It lay nearly untouched by time. Beautiful and serene.

The trees stretched high into the sky, their thick limbs heavy with leaves. Even now he could hear them rustle as a breeze swept through the dense foliage. The sun broke through the clouds, its rays shining brightly on the small loch. The water dazzled like golden fairy wings with the reflection of light.

This was his haven, his sanctuary.

The one place he could let down his guard and allow the horrors of the world he lived in to show.



Laura Black watched Charon from the offices on the second story. She’d rushed to the window when she heard his car pull up. The instant the tires crunched on the gravel, she’d known it was him.

Even as she knew she shouldn’t, she stared. Through the windshield she could make out his strong jaw and the chocolate-colored locks of his hair that fell just past his chin.

She knew from her many hours of covertly observing him every contour of his face, from his razor-sharp cheekbones to his high forehead and square chin. She knew how his lips could look soft and inviting when he wanted something, but if he was angry, they were hard and thin as he pressed them together.

In the two years from working closely with Charon, she’d seen all his emotions. None had made her stomach knot like the one on his face now.

The way he looked at the inn as if he were in another time or place made her skin tingle with some emotion she could neither name, nor explain.

Her mouth went dry when his tall, muscular frame unfolded with liquid grace from the car. She never tired of looking at him. He was utterly virile, wonderfully male.

Completely, wickedly gorgeous.

His dark, seductive eyes, which she had seen promise other women sin and satisfaction, now appeared haunted. Troubled.

Her gaze raked over his frame that lounged nonchalantly against his car with one ankle crossed over the other. He wore his jeans low on his hips, as if they had been custom-made to show off every wonderful angle of his trim hips, firm butt, and long legs.