Darkness Possessed (Order of the Blade) (13 page)

But even as she thought it, something inside her shouted its denial, that he was different. That this time was different. That this time, she didn't have to be afraid. She didn't want to run from him. She wanted to touch him. Her hands burned to feel his skin beneath her palms again. She had never touched a man like that before, and no man had ever stood by to let her. It had always been different, terrible experiences that haunted her every night—

He looked over at her, and one eyebrow went up. "What is it?"

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she shook her head. "Nothing," she muttered. She grabbed her crossbow off the ground, slung it over her shoulder, and brushed by him, heading in the same direction Luther had been going.

She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until she relaxed at the sound of Zach's footsteps falling in behind hers. He was keeping close, keeping her safe…keeping his promise.

Eric Hunter had made his decision.

The only question that remained was when to execute it.

He kinda figured now would be as good a time as any. Aligning himself with Rohan's crew was a dead end. He'd invested a hell of a lot of time in Rohan, but it was clear now that the warrior wasn't the leader that he'd been hoping he was. He'd spent a year with this crew, all based on one damned ritual by an old seer who had told him that he would find the answers he needed with Rohan. His brother had believed in the truth of the blue smoke, so Eric had sought it out to find him, and he'd listened to the advice. For twelve months, he'd followed Rohan into hells worse than death, and none of them had led to his missing twin brother.

Screw the smoke's advice. He was going to have to go somewhere else to find out what had happened to Tristan.

Eric leaned against a tree, casually watching Rohan and the others sparring with their swords, trying to hone their skills in case the big bad fire god and his team showed up. A thousand years of practice wasn't going to save their asses, but Eric was somewhat impressed that Rohan was willing to risk it to save his teammate.

The guy might be an ass, but Eric had to respect any leader willing to take a hit to save one of his soldiers. In another life, he might even like the guy. Or he might shoot him. It depended on his mood. Right now, he was in a kill first and bond later mood, so yeah, the friendship thing wasn't going to happen.

The early afternoon was heavy with humidity, and the bugs were fierce, except around him. He eyed the thick swarms of bugs around Rohan and the others, close enough to annoy them, but not distract them.

Yeah, it was time. Eric grinned. He always had fun doing this part. With a flick of his pinkie, the humming intensified, and the Calydons swore as the insects swarmed under their hoods.

Within seconds, the entire team was fighting a battle against one-inch bugs that were too quick and small to get with a sword, but who had teeth that could do serious damage. Whistling casually, Eric strode across the clearing, slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, and strode past the howling crew. People never took small assailants seriously. The first rule of engagement was to never underestimate the opponent, whether it was bugs, or a new teammate who had been lying to them since the day he'd joined them. "I'll get some plants to ward those off," he called out. "I'll be back in a sec."

There was a howl of outrage as someone got stung, and Eric chuckled again as he walked off, his boots thudding carelessly through the underbrush. He knew the guys would appreciate the good-bye once the welts were gone. It was a guy thing. No hugs. Just assault bugs. All was good.

He took a deep breath as he walked, his body relaxing as he left the crew behind. He stripped off the cloak and shoved it into his duffel, relieved to be free from that damned constriction. Jeans and a tee shirt. Yeah, that was the guy he liked to be. The year with Rohan and his team hadn't been a bad one, but he wasn't a follower kind of guy, and it hadn't been his cup of tea to run around being a minion to someone else. He liked doing his thing the way he wanted to, and he liked making his own calls.

And now he was solo again, and it felt good.

He chuckled as another howl of outrage echoed through the jungle, and then laughed aloud when someone yelled his name. Yeah, he'd figured it wouldn't take long for them to figure out it had been his farewell present. He was pretty sure they knew what a thoughtful guy he was—

A woman stepped out of the woods in front of him, with a bazooka aimed at his head. "Stop."

He stopped. Not because he was really worried about what a hand-held missile launcher would do to him, but because the sight was a little unexpected. It wasn't every day that a guy deep in a South American jungle ran into a petite blond woman in jeans, a hot pink tank top, a ponytail, hoop earrings, and hiking boots so new they were still shiny, who was aiming a massive weapon like she knew exactly how to handle it. He jerked his chin in greeting. "What's up?"

"What's your name?"

He contemplated how to answer. Usually, he made some shit up when strangers asked him that. It was never a good thing to hand out vital stats to people he didn't know. But this felt different. Maybe it was because of the long scar down her right biceps. Maybe it was because she just looked so damned small in the massive jungle. Or, maybe it was because he thought women with guns were hot. Or maybe, it was because he just liked her voice. He'd been with guys for the last year, doing some pretty nasty shit, and her voice just sounded
nice.
"Eric Hunter," he said decisively. "What's yours?"

She cocked her head. "Do you live here?"

"In the jungle?" He noticed that she'd completely ignored his question, but he was actually sort of riveted by her laser-like focus on what she wanted to know. He found her interesting.

She nodded.

"Nope." He held up his duffel bag. "I was having a sleepover with the guys, but I have other places I need to be. They aren't being any help at all, so I decided to ditch them. I was just heading out." He let his gaze run over her body again, and this time he noticed the perfectly manicured fingernails, the thin gold chain with the diamond pendant around her throat, and the artfully streaked highlights in her hair. "You're not local either, are you? What's your name? Why are you here?"

She narrowed her eyes and studied him for a long moment. "Do you have a
sheva
?"

"A
sheva
?" He realized that she'd seen the brands on his arms and assumed he was a Calydon. Shit. He'd worked a lot of magic to convince Rohan and the others he was a Calydon for the last year, but that
sheva
thing was one trait he was never going to pick up, no matter how badly he needed to convince anyone. He held up his hands and took a step back. "No, I'm not that kind of guy. I'm always on the move. I don't settle down like that."

A small smile tweaked the corner of her mouth, and she lowered the gun. "You're a commitment-phobe? Isn't that a little archaic?"

He had to admit, she was even prettier without the weapon aimed at him. "Just being honest. I like expectations to be up front. Name?" Yeah, she was cute, but he was losing control of the conversation, and he didn't like that.

She leaned the gun against her thigh. "My name is Jordyn Leahy. I'm here to find my friend."

"Jordyn Leahy." He rolled the name around on his tongue, surprised by how right it felt, as if he'd heard it before. "Sounds familiar. Do I know you?" Yeah, there was pretty much no chance that he could possibly know her, but her name...shit...he felt like it was in the back of his head.

For a split second, panic leapt across her face, but it was gone almost before he could be sure he'd seen it. "God, I hope not," she said. "I don't like the Calydons I've known before. Listen, have you seen a woman in the jungle? She has dark hair, and wears a red amulet around her neck?"

He shook his head. "Where are you from?" Shit, he was sure he knew her.

"Boston." She looked past him, scanning the woods. "What about a Calydon named José? Have you run into him?"

"José?" He shrugged. "No. We haven't run into any Calydons except the crew I came in with, though my boss is hunting for a Calydon named José as well. We haven't found him, which, from what I gather, is a good thing for our life expectancy. Based on rumors, I think he'd kick all our asses at the same time. Where did you live before Boston?"

She sighed and ducked into the bushes. He instinctively leapt forward, alarmed by the fact she might disappear on him. He jerked the branches back, and then barely got himself stopped before he plowed into her. She was bent over a massive backpack, stowing her gun on the side of it. Her jeans stretched across her incredibly nice ass, and he couldn't quite manage not to appreciate it before she turned around.

Her gaze narrowed. "Checking me out? Really? We're in the middle of the jungle, Eric. You're such a stereotype."

He grinned. "Maybe I just want you to think I'm a stereotype. Maybe I'm really this artistic soul who spends months at a time in seclusion on a mountaintop writing love poetry."

She raised her brows at him in a look of such disbelief that he almost felt chastised. "Some people think I'm funny," he grumbled.

"Some people aren't trying to find their friend before she gets murdered by her soul mate," Jordyn said as she grabbed the backpack and hoisted it over her shoulder. "I still can't believe I let her get on that plane alone," she muttered as she picked up a hunting knife as long as her arm. "I am going to be pissed if I got here too late to help her. If she's dead..." She bit her lip and shoved past him, barely even noticing him as she headed out through the forest.

Eric stared after her as she strode away, her blond ponytail swinging gently as she slapped at a bug, and then another. He flicked his finger, and the insects moved away from her, granting her passage. Swearing, he watched her go, replaying her words in his head. She was trying to track down a Calydon who was planning to kill her friend? Shit. A bazooka wasn't going to be much good against that, and he had a feeling she knew it.

She was going to get herself killed, wasn't she?

He ground his jaw and ran his hand through his hair. He couldn't go with her. He'd already wasted a year and gotten nowhere. He had to go back to where Tristan had last been seen and try tracking him again. Tristan wasn't going to live forever, and when he died, Eric would die as well, and once they were both dead, then who would live on to honor their family's name, whatever it really was?

She stopped suddenly, and then turned around to face him. "Louisiana."

He went still, his heart suddenly starting to hammer. "What?"

"Louisiana," she said. "That's where I'm from. A small town on the edge of the swamps called Parrish Creek. If I die, I want someone to know that." Then she turned and walked away.

For a split second, he was too shocked to move.
Parrish Creek.
Son of a bitch. Parrish Creek, Louisiana, population 956, was the last place Tristan had been seen alive. Shit. No wonder her name had sounded familiar. She had a connection to that place, and maybe even to Tristan.

He broke into a sprint, and caught up to her in less than a second. "I'm coming with you. You can't take on a Calydon by yourself. You need me."

Jordyn stopped so quickly that he took two steps past her before he caught himself. "What?"

"You need help. I'll help. I'll come." He was no fool. He knew Jordyn was on a mission to find her friend, and she'd have no time to stand around answering questions. So, he'd go with her and grill her on the way.

She stared at him. "Why?" Her hand tightened around the knife.

He swore and held up his hands. "I'm not going to attack you. I'm offering to protect you. That's a good thing. You could thank me."

"Really? You checked out my butt. You flirted with me. You're a self-proclaimed player when it comes to women. You're from a breed of warriors who are well known for their insatiable lust and their tendency to go rogue when things go bad. And now you're following me through an isolated jungle. On what planet would that make me feel safe and appreciative?" She pointed the knife at him. "Go away."

He wiped off the charming smile he'd just been preparing to use on her, deciding that might get him stabbed. "My brother is missing." He didn't usually grant women the truth, but he had a feeling the truth was the only way he was going to get to walk next to her without cutting off his own balls to prove he wasn't going to attack her. As much as he needed to find his brother, going eunuch was just too much, so he decided to settle for the truth instead. "I need to find him, and I think you can help. I'll help you with your friend, and you help me with my brother."

Her eyes narrowed, but not with disbelief. "Really. I can help you with your brother. That makes complete sense." Skepticism dripped from her voice, so yeah, they were making progress from utter disbelief.

"He was last seen in Parrish Creek. No one in that place will talk to me because I'm an outsider. I need information, and I need help navigating it." He studied her closely. "Your name sounds familiar, Jordyn Leahy. I know I've come across it while tracking my brother."

Wariness flickered across her features. "What's your brother's name?"

"Tristan Hunter."

The shock of recognition on her face was like a jolt right to his gut. "Tristan?" she whispered. "Tristan's your brother? And he's gone missing?"

Son of a bitch. This couldn't be real. He'd found someone who knew his brother in the deep jungle of South America? Shit. That damned seer with the blue smoke could have just mentioned Jordyn's name and sent him to Boston instead of making him trek around with Rohan for the last year so that they'd meet in some forsaken jungle. Magic was just never thoughtful in that way. "You know Tristan?"

"Know him? He saved my life. Eight times." Her blue eyes bore into his. "What happened to him?"