Dark Defender

“Stunned me with its raw emotion and the poignant love…. I raise my sword high in the air for a story well told!”

—
Joyfully Reviewed

“Intriguing and unique…compelling characters who all deserve their own stories, so hopefully this is just the beginning.”

—
Romantic Times

Dark Protector

An
Original
Publication of POCKET BOOKS

A Pocket Star Book published by POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2006 by Patricia L. Pritchard

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 1-4165-3888-7

POCKET STAR BOOKS colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Visit us on the World Wide Web:

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I would like to dedicate this book to my
friends at work, both past and present.

Think of all the children’s lives you have
touched with the gift of learning.

What could be better than that?

D
ad?”

Where had he disappeared to? Not ten minutes ago he’d been looking through some papers, but now his desk was cleaned off and there was no sign of him.

That was odd—they’d planned to have lunch together to celebrate the release of her latest book. Although he’d been preoccupied all week, it wasn’t like her father to forget something like that.

Then she heard the kitchen door slam. Brenna Nichols hurried toward the back door, and saw him heading straight for his car.

Stepping out onto the back porch, she called, “Dad, where are you going?”

Clearly distracted, he paused to look back at her. Deep worry lines bracketed his attempt to smile. “Sorry, Brenna, I should have told you. Something’s come up, so I have to run into the office for a while.”

“Aren’t we having lunch?”

For a second he looked truly perplexed, which was even more alarming. This definitely wasn’t like him. Not at all. She walked to the edge of the porch. “It’s okay, Dad. I thought we had plans for today, but maybe I had the date wrong.”

Her father’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry, honey, I forgot.” He checked his watch. “I’ll try to be gone for only an hour, two at the most. Maybe we can go when I get back.”

Despite his offer, she sensed his heart wasn’t really in it. “We’ll just reschedule, Dad.”

There was no mistaking the flash of relief in his eyes as he climbed into the car. “If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind, maybe it’s for the best. I don’t think I’d be very good company right now.”

He fastened his seat belt and rolled down the window. “I’m sorry about this, Brenna. I love you, sweetheart.”

He waved and turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered briefly before catching.

Then, with a flash of smoke and lightning, the world exploded. A searing roll of thunder flung Brenna through the air, and terror mixed with the taste of blood in her mouth as she slammed into the side of the house. Her last conscious thought was that she forgot to tell her dad that she loved him, too.

M
urmurs and whispers danced just out of reach. Brenna remained in the darkness, content to stay where she was. The fire of pain waited for her each time she tried to open her eyes; it was far better to huddle in the black chill than to let the monsters in.

But then a new voice entered the discussion, a masculine one that wouldn’t be ignored. A woman answered his demands, sounding defensive and a little afraid.

A few seconds later, heavy footsteps approached and another man started to speak, trying to placate the newcomer. Though the stranger made the others nervous, the deep resonance of his voice comforted Brenna somehow.

She tried to concentrate, to make out what they were saying, but waves of agony immediately sent her diving back down into the darkness. It was enough to know he was there, watching over her. She floated under the edge of pain, content to let his voice soothe her.

Blake Trahern inched closer, making sure Brenna was still asleep. He’d arrived too late to do more than bury her father and say he was sorry for…so damn much. His presence would only upset her, and she had enough on her plate right now without him adding to the mess.

The need to touch her burned along his nerve endings, but he forced his hands to remain at his side.

He stayed outside the circle of light surrounding her bed, the dim glow coming from the instruments that monitored her heartbeat, her breathing, her very life force. Bandages covered the worst of the damage, and after three days, the bruises on her face and arms were fading to a sickly greenish color. Brenna shifted in her sleep, whimpering with pain at the small movement. He moved farther back into the shadows.

“Sons of bitches,” Blake whispered. He vowed that whoever had planted the bomb would pay dearly for their crime. It was the least he could do for her father—and her. But revenge would have to wait. For now, he would stand guard.

A shrill alarm shattered the quiet of the hospital room, dragging Blake out of his memories. He scanned the room for any sign of danger, adrenaline burning through his veins, but relaxed when he realized the noise came from one of the machines surrounding Brenna’s bed.

He shook his head to clear out the last of the cobwebs and cursed himself for a fool. Her room was on a private floor in the hospital, but that didn’t mean the security couldn’t be breached. A fat lot of good he would have been if the footsteps outside the door had belonged to a killer, rather than one of the nurses who came in and out regularly.

He eased farther into the shadows and pulled his hand away from the knife in his pocket. Luckily, the nurse paid him little heed as she silenced the machine. After a few failed attempts to engage him in conversation, the medical staff ignored Blake as they saw to Brenna’s needs. He watched silently as the nurse hung new bags of life-sustaining liquids on the IV pole and checked her vitals.

The need to know how Brenna was doing forced him out of his silence. “How is she?”

The nurse jumped, as if she’d forgotten he was even there. “Are you family?”

“I’m all that she has left.” And that was a sad statement if there ever was one. “What does the doctor think now?”

The woman stared at him for a few seconds. He lacked the gene for charming people into talking, leaving him no choice but to wait her out. Finally, some of the tension in her stance drained away.

“The injuries are healing as well as can be expected. The concussion caused by the explosion put her in a coma, even though the concussion didn’t appear to be that severe.” She glanced at Brenna’s pale face. “I’d guess the shock of seeing her father die aggravated her condition.”

A fist-size lump settled in his throat, and Blake realized that the bitter taste in his mouth was fear. He’d often faced certain death without blinking. Hell, he’d died more times than he could count and had come back from it. But for Brenna, death was permanent—not just something to be endured until her heart and lungs remembered how to work.

“What else can be done?” He hated the sympathy in the nurse’s eyes. Begging wasn’t his style, but he couldn’t rely on his usual technique of holding his opponent at sword point.

“Talk to her. Sometimes that seems to help bring them back.” She tilted her head as if to listen. “I’ve got another patient calling for attention, so push that button on the bed if you need me.”

Then she was gone, leaving him alone with the blinking lights and Brenna, still and pale and silent.

“Come on, Brenna, I need you to tell me what happened.” Blake felt stupid carrying on a one-sided conversation, but he’d strip and run naked down the street if it would help her come back to the living. “I know it hurts, but you’re strong.”

He reached for his water bottle and took a big swig to soothe his parched throat. He was known for his silence, not for conversation. Reading her the front page of the paper obviously hadn’t worked, and he tried to think of another topic of conversation.

He let his thoughts wander back to when he’d first met her, and without realizing it, he started talking.

“I’d never met anyone like you before—all eyes and innocence, but with one of the best minds I’d ever met. Even at age twelve, when you started high school, you saw and understood far more than most adults.”

His lips quirked in a half smile. “I’d been living on the streets, more wild animal than human. Then your father picked me up by the scruff of my neck and dropped me right into your home. I don’t know what he was thinking, but between him and Maisy, they got me straightened out in short order. Maybe it was all those cookies she baked for me. And, despite being five foot nothing, she could be a real terror.”

Leaning back in the chair, he stared up at the ceiling. “Once, just before your thirteenth birthday, I was on my way to the kitchen to see if Maisy had any snickerdoodles for me to eat when you came charging out of the kitchen, almost knocking me over. I still remember the look in your eyes when I caught you to keep both of us from hitting the floor. For that one moment, I could see past the glasses and braces to see the lovely woman you’d become.” He dragged his gaze back toward Brenna’s still form in the bed. “I wasn’t too far off the mark.” He drifted into silence, the past never a comfortable place for him to visit.

And once again he’d run out of conversation. “Brenna, you’ve got to wake up. It’s not safe here in the hospital—even with the guards your father’s buddies, the Regents, sent in. No place will be safe until we find out who was behind this.”

Her eyes fluttered briefly. He’d been a day and a half without sleep, though, and didn’t trust what he’d just seen. He reached over and angled a light so that it shone directly in her face. “Brenna, blink your eyes. I need to know if you’re understanding me.”

She moaned softly and tried to turn away from the glare, but he captured her chin gently in his hand and held her face still. He injected more authority in his voice, just as her father always had when she fought getting up in the morning. “Brenna, it’s time to wake up.”

Mumbling something about five more minutes, she frowned for all she was worth and stubbornly kept her eyes closed. Despite her small rebellion, he felt better than he had since receiving word about the car bomb.

It was time to push the nurses’ button and summon the troops. Within seconds he heard voices approaching in the hallway. He kept his hand resting softly on Brenna’s cheek, for fear that if he broke off contact she would slip back down into the darkness.

The first person through the door was the nurse who had suggested he talk to Brenna. The doctor was hard on her heels, both of them looking more curious than worried. If something had gone seriously wrong, the battery of monitors at the nurses’ station down the hall would have set off alarms.

“What’s up?” The doctor’s question was addressed to Trahern, but his eyes were focused solely on his patient.

“I think she’s coming out of it. Her eyelids have been fluttering and she mumbled something about letting her sleep for another five minutes.” He hoped they believed him because at the moment Brenna’s face had reverted back to the same unhealthy stillness.

The nurse pushed past Blake to pick up Brenna’s wrist and take her pulse. The doctor pried open Brenna’s eyelids and shined his small flashlight into her eyes.

She tossed her head back and forth, and whimpered. Finally, her eyes opened briefly and stared up at the three people surrounding her bed. Confusion, then fear, clouded her expression.

“Who? Where?” she croaked.

“I’m Doctor Vega and this is Jan Windsor, your nurse.” He patted her hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

It was too late for Blake to slide out the door, so he braced himself for her reaction.

“Brenna, it’s me, Blake Trahern.”

Her response wasn’t long in coming. “Can’t be. The Blake Trahern I knew disappeared years ago.”

Dr. Vega frowned at him. “We were under the impression that you were family.”

“I’m more a friend of the family.”

The doctor was clearly not happy. “Wait here, Mr. Trahern. I need to make a phone call about this.”

Trouble wasn’t long in coming. The door to the ward banged open as a quintet of heavily armed guards entered the hall and spread out to block any avenues of escape, weapons ready. Trahern remained still, not wanting to startle anyone into acting rashly.

The leader came inside the room to talk to Dr. Vega, then said, “Mister, we’re going to have to ask you to step out into the hallway.”

Before he could answer, another man stepped into view, a man Blake recognized as a Paladin.

“Stand down.” The man’s calm demeanor spoke of years of having orders obeyed without question.

The leader of the guards sneered. “You’re not in charge here, Jarvis. Ordnance sent us.”

“I’m not in charge, but I’m trying to save you and your buddies there some pain and misery.” Jarvis leaned against the wall with a hint of a smile.

“You come against us, Jarvis, and we’ll see who walks away limping.”

“Maybe on a good day, the five of you might be able to take me down.” Though the guard outweighed him by at least thirty pounds of pure muscle, Paladins were the finest warriors on the planet. It would take more than a few armed guards to handle a Paladin in prime condition; a good dust-up against superior numbers only whetted a Paladin’s appetite for violence. Guards employed by the Regents sure as hell should know that. If the five of them took on Jarvis, Dr. Vega would have a whole new set of patients to patch up. Fatal shots only made Paladins meaner; they made guards dead.

Jarvis pushed away from the wall. “Maybe I should let your men go charging in there, Sergeant. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen Blake Trahern in action, but from all reports, he’s only gotten better. It’s up to you, though.”

He met Trahern’s gaze and his smile warmed up a few degrees. Blake nodded, acknowledging his old friend. Jarvis had been one of the two men whom Brenna’s father had introduced him to years ago. Together, the three of them had told him about a secret group called the Regents that they worked for. Throughout the world, the Regents deployed warriors called Paladins to hold the line against the constant threat of invasion from another world.

With Jarvis’s help, he’d learned what it had meant to be a Paladin. Jarvis’s lectures, delivered with a big brother’s impatient good humor, had given Blake the first taste of self-worth and belonging he’d felt in his entire life. With Jarvis’s support, the Paladins, who watched over and protected the barrier that ran along the unstable New Madrid Fault, had accepted him without hesitation.

But that had been many years and several deaths ago. Trahern had changed a lot during the interim, and not for the better; a wise man would assume Jarvis had taken a similar journey on the road to madness.

Blake widened his stance and waited for the scene to play out. A movement to his left told him that Dr. Vega had pushed the nurse into the corner and positioned himself between Blake and Brenna. Good man.

“Hey, Trahern, you want to come out and meet the locals?” Jarvis stepped in front of the doorway, blocking any chance of the guards storming the room.

It seemed like a reasonable suggestion. If the situation turned ugly, at least Brenna and the others would be out of the line of fire. “Why not?”

When he reached the door, Jarvis moved aside to avoid being trapped between Trahern and the guards. By his action, Blake assumed Jarvis would back his play, but only so far. Jarvis used to be one of the few men he’d trust behind his back, but only time would tell if that had changed.

“I’m Trahern out of the Seattle office,” he told the sergeant. “Judge Nichols was an old friend of mine. I’m here to protect his daughter.”

“That’s our job.” The sergeant lowered his gun a little.

“Hell of a fine job you were doing. I’ve been here for the past two days, and this is the first I’ve seen any of you. Anybody could have waltzed in here unchallenged to finish the job on Ms. Nichols.”

One of the other guards spoke up. “The police said the judge was the target. She was just collateral damage.”

Fury, hot and violent, burned through Blake. In the space of two heartbeats, he slammed the young guardsman up against the wall, his hands wrapped around the fool’s throat.