Wounds of Engagement Read online

  * * *

  Amber Quill Press

  www.amberquill.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Adrianna Dane

  * * *

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  CONTENTS

  Also By Adrianna Dane

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  Adrianna Dane

  Amber Quill's Rewards Program

  * * * *

  WOUNDS OF ENGAGEMENT

  By

  ADRIANNA DANE

  * * * *

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  www.amberquill.com

  Also By Adrianna Dane

  The Midas Bride

  Nights In White Satin

  No Choice

  The Primal Magic Series

  Realm Of The Ice God

  Ruthless Acts

  Sequestered Passion

  Sidra's Song

  Smooth Finish

  Sully's Heart

  Sylvie's Gift

  Tempt Me Not

  Therapy

  Train Me

  Unicorn Craving

  The Vampyre Falls Series Sacrifice

  A View To Possession

  Whisper

  Wings of Salvation

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER 1

  Sometimes he was the hunter. Sometimes the prey. At odd moments he couldn't tell the difference. He knew his role this time. It's one he'd played before. One he didn't want. His heart felt like one of those overinflated balloons he'd seen last week at the county fair. Stretched tight and close to bursting. His chest and throat hurt from exertion. And then he saw her. After what felt like pursuit that went on into forever, he stretched for another burst of speed. She had long red hair, just like his sister, Sidra. His hand clenched on the diffuser. The weapon was more like another appendage attached to his body. He fought the Enforcer rage as it built and tried to gain control of him. The howl of anger rent the air as a piece of himself separated and ripped away.

  Was there blood? He couldn't take the time to find out. He had a mission. He must complete his mission. He kept running. It was like being on a treadmill that went on and on and on, getting nowhere. Kind of like his life. He felt a presence as someone tread within his personal space and he was no longer alone. He had to catch the woman. He should have overtaken her by now, but he was frustrated by the realization the distance separating them was just as wide as it had been before he started.

  "Sidra,” he cried out, knowing the man racing beside him would destroy her if he had a chance. But what about himself? Was he there to kill her or to rescue her? Was he murderer or savior? The woman never looked back when he yelled.

  Benedikt turned to glance at the man running neck-in-neck with him. He recognized him. Recognized the long white hair, the broad shoulders, the cut of the uniform, the scarlet look of murder in his eyes, and the set, dispassionate expression on his face.

  In horror, he watched as his twin lifted the diffuser and aimed it at Sidra. Benedikt launched himself at the dark twin and they both fell to the ground, arms clenched around each other rolling over and over, each trying to gain the upper hand. They fought for control of the weapon. Benedikt was on top, forcing the twin's arm to the ground, locking his wrist to the earth, squeezing with all his strength. He could feel the bones beneath his grip, the bend and yield, and then the crack as the diffuser fell away and the twin screamed with pain and rage.

  And then Benedikt was on the ground, flat on his back, the twin above him, locking him to the earth. They stared at each other. Tears poured from Benedikt's eyes. The twin glared down at him, a snarl on his lips, his red eyes glowing with killer intent. He dropped down over Benedikt and snarled words in his ear.

  "Do you love me, brother?"

  Shock flashed through Benedikt and he violently reared back and shook his head. How could he love someone so consumed by hate? Someone who would murder without thought, without guilt. Over and over again.

  He heard the guttural snicker of the man gazing down at him. Lips drawn tight, teeth bared. Benedikt couldn't move, couldn't find the strength to toss him off. All he could do was lay there beneath the strength and determination of the murdering twin.

  "No,” Benedikt screamed and bucked upward, throwing the twin off. He broke away from the control of the twin and they rolled once more.

  Now the albino-haired twin looked up at him. “The only way to beat me is to love me, brother. If you can't love me, you'll die."

  Benedikt threw back his head and screamed with rage. “Never,” he yelled. “I could never love you.” His hands closed around the thick neck of the man beneath him.

  And then he was gone like a wisp of smoke and all Benedikt was left clutching was the loose dirt of the ground beneath him. Again he screamed with rage. And with pain.

  Benedikt was running again. And this time he could almost touch the woman with long, flowing red hair. One more burst of speed and he would catch her. She swung around to face him and he skidded to a stop.

  The woman he'd been chasing morphed into another woman. She reached out for him. Wavy, shoulder-length brown hair, hazel eyes. An Earth woman, with a soft, gentle smile, slender frame, almost boyish. And she was naked.

  Her flesh was softly rounded, warm and silky to his touch. She leaned closer and he felt her gentle curves mold to his body. His hands dropped to her narrow waist and he lifted her. His mouth claimed her lips and his body wanted to claim her body, to feel her soft shax surround his khout. He wanted to burrow inside her. To rest beside her, within her healing embrace. She rubbed against him and his hands slid over her rounded buttocks, a finger delved into her moist channel and she purred in his ear. Her hands stroked over his shoulders and down over his pecs. Dipping lower and lower, between their bodies where she gripped his khout.

  It was like entering Lydion, so soft and yet so sure. Her gentle gaze captured him as she stroked over his erection, her other hand cupping his balls. A finger delved beneath to track a path to his anus.

  "Oh, Mylonna, yes, enter me there,” his words, a growl of need.

  And then his gaze shifted as his mirror self rose behind her. His hands gripped the woman's throat and she arched and began to choke, gasping for breath. Her gaze wide and frantic.

  "Tell me, Benedikt,” Benedikt's twin commanded. “Tell me you love me. If you can't love me, we all will die."

  "No,” he screamed, watching as the woman's complexion grew mottled, the strong hands at her throat compressing. “No. Leave her alone."

  "Tell me, Benedikt."

  "I can't love you. You're a murderer."

  Something flickered in the twin's eyes. And then the woman collapsed into Benedikt's arms. Eyes wide and lifeless as she folded against him like a rag doll, her head falling forward.

  * * * *

  "No,” he screamed as he bolted up in the bed, sweat streaming from his body, gripping the covers between clenched fists. Mylonna, when would the nightmares ever cease? He reached up to shove the wet strands of hair out of his eyes.

  Throwing back the covers he got out of the bed and padded into the bathroom. Nothing seemed to work. He'd been exiled on Earth
for three years, hoping that a different atmosphere, being away from Argadia, would help him to regain some sort of life. But it only seemed to be getting worse.

  He stood beneath the ice-cold spray of the shower. It was no use. He didn't even know why he tried to have some kind of normal life. It wasn't in the cards for him—not since the day he'd been inducted into the ranks of the Enforcer army beneath the Tribunal's direction.

  He had his emotions back, but they scared the life out of him. Even after the de-programming and then the psych evaluations, he still felt out of place, as though there was nowhere he belonged.

  He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a white towel around his lean hips. He walked over to the CD player and pressed play. One of Sidra's recent recordings was still in the player. Sidra, his sister, had been the Songbird of Argadia, feted by the most elite on Argadia. Until she assassinated Tribunal Commander Zydon. Then she and her taman had fled to Earth with the help of the rebel leaders. Here she made recordings of her music that were shipped back to Argadia to instill hope in their people that their world would be rebuilt after the war. They would survive.

  But would he?

  The music soothed him somewhat. Reminded him of his homeland. The good things before he'd become an Enforcer. Before he'd been ripped away from his family and his memories had been stolen. But there were so few to offer him solace. He'd been so young when he was inducted.

  There was no solid reason he couldn't return to Argadia. The new government would settle him somewhere and he could have a new life. But he knew, just like the other ex-Enforcers had discovered, that the people could never forget what they had done. All of them retained the signature white hair of an Enforcer and that was something that couldn't be altered. The color had been effectively stripped away and couldn't be recovered.

  Odd that it was one of their own, an ex-Enforcer, who stood as president of the new government. Devon Andromeda had surmounted all the obstacles that many of them continued to have difficulty dealing with. But then he had his tafai, Eluria Zydon, at his side. And his family had been returned to him. Benedikt had met the couple only once, but in that one short meeting he knew their government and the people of Argadia were in strong, safe hands.

  His own tortured memories were not so easily overcome. But he had found a way to cope. The music surged over him as he walked over to the dresser on the other side of the room. The cabin was small, he didn't need a lot of room and it suited him fine. His hand hovered above the brass handle of the second drawer. His fingers curled around the brushed metal. He didn't want to open it. But he needed it tonight. He'd never get any sleep if he didn't do it.

  He yanked open the drawer and his hand fastened around the handle of the cat-o-nine buried inside beneath his shirts.

  Yanking off the towel and letting it drop to the floor, he turned back toward the one window in the tiny bedroom. Dropping to his knees he stared out at the graying tendrils of dawn. His fingers stroked along the black leather handle. His lips tightened as he prepared himself to accept the self-administered punishment he so richly deserved.

  He lifted the whip and his gaze locked on the mist settled over the cornfield in the distance. A lone stag with a huge rack stood proudly just in front of the field, staring at the cabin. He and the buck locked gazes for a long time and then he loped off into the forest. Both solitary, fierce animals bent on hunting weaker prey.

  A groan escaped Benedikt's lips as he began to flay his back in steady, rhythmic cadence. Again and again and again. He felt the drops of blood trickle down his back, mingling with droplets of sweat. He heard Sidra's beautiful voice. How he'd failed her. He needed the pain ... he deserved it. That and so much more.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER 2

  Natasha didn't want to admit she looked forward to seeing the stranger every night. It was a weakness she couldn't afford. Yet ten o'clock rolled around and Natasha still hadn't seen him come in and she felt the disappointment drop over her. Benedikt Venus wasn't the type of man she should hunger for. Watching him every night, as he sat brooding at the end of the bar, with his beautiful physique and dark eyes would make any woman fantasize about him. Not too many men around Branton with that unique color of platinum hair. Nor as tall. Or broad. In fact, there was no one else like Benedikt Venus, and she wondered where he had come from and what landed him here in this small town.

  She set a sweating glass of Bud down in front of her customer and then picked up a towel to wipe her hands before snapping up the bills from the bar. It was habit. After a year of working as bartender in her father-in-law's bar, she could probably do the job in her sleep. She'd been trying to make ends meet ever since her husband, Todd, had been killed in a drunk driving accident. He'd been the drunk—no great surprise to Natasha.

  She slammed the drawer of the register closed and it clanged with the force, shuddering slightly. She really didn't want memories of Todd, not tonight. Todd was the reason she was now at his father's beck and call. He'd either gambled away or drunk away every penny they'd managed to scrounge together. How many times had he promised they would get out of this town? In the back of her mind she knew he'd never leave. He was glued to this town. But now that he was gone, that was her one goal in life. To leave Branton as far behind her as she could.

  In order to get out of this town, she needed cash, and in a small town like Branton, and her lack of experience at doing much else, she was stuck.

  "Hey, Nat, guy at the end of the bar needs a scotch. Quit daydreaming and get to work."

  Natasha grimaced at her father-in-law's rough command. That man was intent on squeezing every last bit of work out of his daughter-in-law he could. By day she kept house for him and at night tended his damned bar. All at minimum wage. He even claimed half her tips as his due.

  And she willingly paid as long as he kept his hands off her. She knew that look in his eyes. She shivered as she remembered that same look in Todd's eyes. The two were quite a pair. And Earl Paris knew there was nothing Natasha could do about it. At least for now. She was stuck until she could stash enough money to get away from the sly bastard.

  At eleven o'clock the hairs on the back of Natasha's neck stood on end. She knew what that meant without even looking at the door.

  A blast of cold air rushed through her and she glanced up from drying glasses and saw him. She wished she knew what was wrong with her when it came to Benedikt Venus. She knew his name, but very little else about him. Strangers like him weren't usual in this town—few and far between. And she usually knew better than to get all hot and bothered over strangers passing through. All they were ever after was a quick fuck with no strings. But something about Benedikt was different. Branton residents were leery of strangers and didn't hold out a welcome mat. This time was no exception. No welcome, but they seemed to know enough not to cross him. He had that lethal look in his eyes that said he could take care of himself. Something about him blared “keep out.” No one asked him questions and he didn't offer any information on his own. But everyone was sure curious.

  Natasha had never wanted a man the way she wanted this one. Even if he might just be passing through and wanted nothing more than that quick fuck. She wanted Benedikt Venus. Bad.

  There was something about the man that made her blood burn. He'd never given her more than a polite nod, always treated her with respect, which was more than she could say for a lot of the jerks that came to Earl's bar.

  When he sat down on the last stool, the one he always took, and leaned his back up against the log wall, she poured his usual. Straight up vodka. A man after her own heart. Pulling out a plain white napkin, she set it before him, remembering to keep her expression bland. She felt his gaze on her and it sliced through her like a laser beam. She tried to ignore it. It wouldn't do for him to realize that just one word from him and she'd walk right out of this place with him without so much as a backward glance or the least bit of regret.

  It never happened and she doubted
that it ever would. She'd watched him turn down every woman who approached him. Several a lot prettier than she was. She couldn't imagine why he'd chosen this backwater town to settle in, but she expected there were reasons. In her fantasies she imagined he was some kind of mercenary, or ex-soldier who'd seen all he wanted to of war. Which war she couldn't be certain, but some kind of fighting none the less. There was just something bleak in his eyes.

  "Evening, Benedikt. I didn't think we'd see you tonight."

  He looked at her with those strange-colored eyes of his. Tonight they looked almost black. There were times when they looked green, sometimes blue. Even one night when they appeared to glow with some weird reddish color. But tonight they almost looked dead, the pupils shiny onyx, like staring out of a window at night without a moon.

  It took all her willpower not to reach out and lay a hand over his, to try to give him some sort of comfort. Was she crazy? She doubted this man would ever want comfort from a woman who tended bar in a place like this.

  He looked at her. “Miss me, Natasha?” He reached out and grabbed her hand before she could back away to tend to the next customer. He never smiled. That was something else she wondered about. What would he look like if he lightened up a bit. The man was handsome as it was and she expected he'd be lethal if he put on the charm.

  She caught her breath. Suddenly that black look altered. It warmed to a midnight blue. “Do you realize your eyes change color? It's the oddest thing,” she couldn't help remarking.

  He released her hand and the color of his pupils grew darker once again. He shrugged and looked down at his drink. “Must be the light in this place."

  That was too easy an answer and she knew there was something more to it than that. But he wasn't talking. Closed up as usual.

  "Nat,” Earl yelled from the back room. “I need you to come back here and looked at these purchase orders. Something's not right."

  Natasha offered Benedikt an apologetic smile and a shrug of her shoulders. She saw his expression darken, if that was possible.