In the Dark (7 page)

Chapter 7

Faith opened her mouth to yell for help, but Soren was already there. He hooked his arm around the man's neck from behind, and threw him to the floor, where he landed flat on his back with a heavy thud and a grunt.

She hadn't truly been in danger here, but still his shoulders remained tense, his focus sharp. And she couldn't take her eyes off him. He hadn't acted like this the first time he'd saved her, or the second. This had nothing to do with protecting a woman. What he did now was pure male possessiveness.

Seeming disoriented, and looking angry, Tarmon scrambled for an escape. Soren gripped his shoulder and drove him back to the floor.

“You can't do that to Tarmon. His father's a nobleman,” his friend objected.

“Then the first lesson of the day is for you, Cutler. Not everyone fights fair.” Soren had no problem lecturing Cutler as he kept Tarmon pinned. “Meaning, few give a damn about noble blood, and won't waste time verifying your lineage before spilling it from your veins.

“The second lesson.” He shifted his gaze from man to man, making certain he had their full attention. “When protecting your loved ones and family, don't fight fair. Nothing matters except victory.”

Faith held her breath as he looked down on Tarmon and pressed his hand around the man's throat, almost daring him to move.

“And the lesson to you, fledgling? Never touch another man's woman,” Soren said, low and angrily.

“Sh-she's not marked,” Tarmon stammered once he finally took in enough air to speak.

“Not marked?” He didn't look away from Tarmon. “It matters not if a woman is marked. She always belongs to someone whether he is a lover, a mate, a father, or a brother. If a man perceives her as his, he'll fight like the devil to defend her, to protect her and keep her. You would not survive such a fight. Have I made my point?”

“Yes,” Tarmon rasped.

Soren let go of his throat and left him to gain his footing by his own means.

“Enough talk. Draw swords!” Soren shouted.

His gaze swept over her from head to toe, no doubt making certain she hadn't been hurt. She mouthed
thank you
. He gave her a nod then turned and shouted orders, once again occupied with training.

She leaned her rigid spine against the wall, waiting for her breaths to come evenly. She should have known she wouldn't be welcome here at some point, and being in the middle of such a volatile confrontation made her want to stick to Soren's side like glue.

The tension didn't leave her, and from what she saw, he had no relief either. He looked wound tight. His previously smooth, patient gestures and movements now appeared choppy, as if he were irritated.

Soren left these men no room for errors. He was stern, this approach different from what she'd seen earlier, but it worked because these men fought well. They didn't require direction, and battled continually for nearly an hour.

The fighting finally ended. Ready to drop with exhaustion, the young men dripped with sweat. Soren hadn't even been easy on the two who had no part in attempting to eject her.

With only five men, he had participated fully, sparring with each man at least once. He'd done everything with them and he merely breathed deeper. Could he truly be this remarkable, or did endurance come with the vampire package? She had a sneaking suspicion he worked hard on a daily basis.

“We're done here. Get out of my sight. Titus. Dyre. Front and center.” Soren waited, and after the others moved from earshot, looked from one man to the other. “Neither of you confronted or questioned her, though women are not allowed in this room. Why?”

This would be interesting. If women weren't allowed in here, no wonder they'd taken offense.

“You were already here. You saw her,” Titus answered.

“And therefore must have a good reason for allowing her to stay. It's not our place to question you,” Dyre added.

“Right, and wrong. I did know she was here and I do have good reason, but you shouldn't assume your elders are aware of what goes on around them. You have your own minds, use them,” Soren said.

“We did, and had no intention of speaking our minds in front of everyone,” Dyre said quietly.

“So say it now,” he pressed.

She leaned forward, hands wrapped around the edge of the bench. Turning her ear toward them, she strained to catch every word.

“We saw how you looked at her.” Titus had lowered his voice, following his friend's lead.

“And how was that?”

Titus and Dyre shared an uneasy glance, reminding her of children, each one waiting for the other to take the fall.

“Forgive me, but what I saw left me with the distinct impression—” Dyre started to answer.

“You want her,” Titus interrupted. “The way you look at her is a pretty clear signal she's yours. And she's human. Two and two equal she just got here and you can't, or won't, leave her in your home alone.”

“End of discussion. To the showers, men,” Soren said, effectively dropping the subject and covering the glint of surprise that had crossed his face.

After numbly blinking several times, Faith pretended to inspect her fingernails. He hadn't denied his attraction, but instead of trudging through an awkward conversation, she chose to feign ignorance.

She stood, stretching her tired body. She'd sat in the same position for hours, and now her muscles craved motion. “Are you done?” she asked, speared her fingers through her hair and lifted it off her neck, piled it on top of her head.

“No. One more class, then I'm done for the day.” His attention drifted to the locker room and the approaching men. “Sit.”

“Don't worry, I can't run away from you. My legs feel like jelly,” she said, lifting her heels off the ground in an attempt to revive her circulation.

Soren glanced at the locker room again, then back at her. “You need to sit now.”

“Don't bully me just because you've been doing it all day with them,” she said, hands on hips.

Three men walked in, curiously eyeing her as she faced off with Soren. Game over, at least for now. A man with a wounded ego would be hell to live with, and she had to live with him, so she sat, relishing the confusion on his face.

She crossed her legs and smiled sweetly at him, leaving Soren nothing to do but join the men. Unlike the awkward boys and young men she had seen earlier today, these three warriors commanded the room. In the midst of such strength and power, Soren fit perfectly.

“Nero, where is Steffen?” he asked.

“He's sleeping off the dawn,” Nero said quietly, and dipped his chin for a brief moment.

What did it mean for someone to sleep off the dawn? When put in the context of sunlight being bad for vampires, it didn't sound like a good thing.

Soren nodded, stretched the tension from his shoulders and carried on, not allowing his obvious worry to interfere with his job. “Men, I'm damn tired of toying with fledglings. Please, I beg you, show me no mercy.” He smiled, his challenge thrown down.

The man with the narrow face and dark brown eyes gave a short laugh, acting completely unmoved by Soren's plight. “How can we show you no mercy if we struggle to keep our feet beneath us from your blows?”

“Not interested, Flynn?” Soren asked, though it didn't sound like a question. Maybe Flynn's protests were a normal occurrence.

“I'll take on our good trainer,” Nero said. “There are two females in my home driving me mad. I need the outlet.”

“Brilliant plan, Nero,” Flynn said, his kind eyes the only thing belying his rough exterior. “You wear him out, then Sampson and I might stand a chance.”

“Oh, no,” the larger man said, leaning against the wall. “I'm staying right here today. I'll join in when I'm needed.”

“Sampson can hang back. I'll take on both of you,” Soren directed, pulling off his shirt as he walked to the broadswords.

She covered her mouth, but the soft feminine gasp had somehow escaped. His shirt hadn't hit the ground yet when he stopped and looked straight at her, a devilish smile curving his lips.

A shocking jolt went through her chest and landed in her stomach. For the first time, she saw his desire for her shining through his eyes. It absolutely thrilled her, and she didn't understand why.

“Miss, could it be that our Soren is to your liking?” Flynn asked as he absently rubbed his nose.

Hoping to avoid the question, she ducked her head. She certainly did like him, and if they caught a glimpse of her warming cheeks, they'd have their answer.

“Of course she likes me, she followed me home,” Soren said lightly, sending her a quick wink, and tested the weight of the broadsword.

The men chuckled, and Faith covered her face, her hands cool against her heated skin. She couldn't be more embarrassed. They must know Soren bit her, and as she was in their city, would know she lived with him. Any vampire would make that connection, but these three total strangers pointed out something she hadn't fully admitted. She was attracted to Soren.

When she peeked at him through her fingers, he'd already turned to his men, leaving her the freedom to examine him more thoroughly. How could she not think of him in a purely carnal way as he strutted around like some modern, bare-chested barbarian? No woman alive could see those hard-earned muscles shifting beneath his skin and not conjure up a naughty fantasy or two.

The heavy clank of swords startled her, dissolving her daydreams. Nero and Flynn moved in immediately, an intimidating pair of predators. They targeted Soren. By the way they approached in unison, deflecting blows meant for their partner, these two men had worked together often.

The other classes consisted of lessons and direction, but these men practiced the unpredictability of battle. They had no problems using a sword or their heavily muscled bodies to gain the advantage.

Flynn was quick, his strikes sharp and precise. Soren avoided them, leaving himself open to Nero's calculated assault. Flynn had a swift sword arm, and Nero, keen strategy. Though they impressed her, Soren possessed both skills and more. He had Flynn disarmed and on the ground in a handful of minutes. Not a big surprise.

His focus now turned full force on Nero. With Flynn taken out, the swordplay moved at a slower pace, and she had an easier time following the movements.

Nero shifted his tall body, either chasing Soren or forcing him to follow. Soren used caution, but when Nero suddenly changed direction, his blade grazed Soren's arm.

“Soren!” she screamed as blood dripped down his arm. Nero turned to her, and Soren took advantage quickly, shoved him hard enough for him to lose his sword as he landed.

She watched helplessly as Sampson appeared from nowhere, stepped between Soren and Nero. She smacked her hands over her mouth, refusing to let another sound escape.

Sampson swung hard and connected with Soren's sword, the heavy metallic ring filling the air. Soren's blade hadn't hit the ground yet when Sampson drove his body against him, sent him sliding across the floor on his back. Blood was now smeared down his arm.

Faith stood, already in motion, intent on reaching Soren. That is, until he laughed.

“It seems I can still teach you old dogs a thing or two. When fighting, ignore women or send them away. They're a distraction, and could cost you your life,” Soren said as Flynn reached out and helped him to his feet.

“True.” Sampson gave him a broad smile. “But I'd still rather keep mine close.”

“That's because she's a pit bull. I'd rather fight you than her any day,” Flynn said.

“I'll tell her you said so,” Sampson replied, walking away.

“I think he's really going to tell her,” Flynn told Nero.

Nero shrugged. “I warned you about opening your mouth.”

Discussing Sampson's wife and Flynn's big mouth, the men exited the room. She'd been caught up in their battle and had completely forgotten it wasn't real. Twice she'd embarrassed herself.

Making his way back to her, Soren snatched his shirt from the floor and pulled it on. A solid heat settled beside her on the bench, but she couldn't look at him, not yet. Maybe if she kept him talking he would forget she'd been afraid for his life. “You're training them to fight like those last three men. Why?”

Soren nodded. “A rare few of them will become Guardians. Guardians are what you might consider law enforcement.”

“Riiight. So if I break a law, one of these guys will come running at me with a sword?”

* * * *

“Pretty much.” Soren laughed. “I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're right.”

“You've got a long way to go with the first group. Good luck,” she said.

“Most don't make it through the first class. Others train for years before I'll consider recommending they become one of us. Our best Guardians were in the last group of men. Sampson is the lord's personal Guardian. Nero and Flynn are Council Guardians, and Steffen is our Gatekeeper.”

“So they show up and knock you around?” Faith asked sweetly, smiling.

“They do, and enjoy it greatly.” He couldn't believe how happy she seemed. Is this what life would be like with her? He'd do almost anything for a daily dose of her gentle teasing and playful smiles.

Yet Tarmon had frightened her. The relief on her face and clear appreciation of him when he'd come to her aid had been proof.

Soren stood, headed across the room with a purpose and opened a glass case that held a small arsenal of knives fixed on the far wall. He removed one, and returned to her side, spinning the blade slowly in his hand. The weapon was beautiful and deadly. Etched flowers covered the gold hilt, continuing their trail over the sharpened blade. He placed the knife in her hand, and she looked at him, eyes wide.

She tried giving it back, but he closed her fingers around the hilt. “It's yours.”