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Authors: Annette McCleave

Surrender to Darkness (26 page)

BOOK: Surrender to Darkness
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A fist pounded on the door. “Murdoch? You in there?”
Murdoch’s eyes flew open. Above him was the woodpaneled ceiling of the bunkhouse. Beside him were the twisted sheets of his bunk bed. No Kiyoko. Trying not to analyze the keen sense of loss swirling in his gut, he quickly covered himself with a sheet and sat up.
Just in time. The door swung open and Brian Webster entered the private bunk room.
“You’re supposed to wait until I give you leave to enter.” Murdoch said, raking his hair out of his eyes.
“You look like shit. Rough night?”
“Do you have a reason for being here at this ungodly hour of the morning, Webster? Or did Lena kick your sorry ass out of bed?”
The other man grinned boldly, not bothered one bit by the suggestion that his love life was lacking. Because it obviously wasn’t. “Gotta say, now that I’ve met Kiyoko, I’m not surprised it took you so long to return from Japan. She’s quite the looker. If you need advice on how to get to date number three, call me.”
Murdoch scowled. “Just so we’re clear, Webster, we are
not
friends. I don’t want or need your advice. Go annoy someone else.”
“Stop being a grouch.” Webster crossed to the window and yanked open the drapes. Even in jeans and T-shirt, the man looked like he’d just stepped out of a damned fashion magazine. “Rachel had the baby.”
Murdoch’s annoyance slipped away. “Really?”
His boss nodded. “Girl. Eight pounds three ounces. Mom and baby are doing fine.”
“Thank God.”
“How cool is that? We’re uncles.”
Murdoch stood, wrapping the sheet around his hips. “
We
aren’t anything.
You
are a pain in the ass, and
I
am late for breakfast. Can I have some bloody privacy, please?”
“I’m going.” But the wretch didn’t leave. “I confess, I thought you’d be up at the house with Kiyoko, not bunking down here. What’s the matter? She sleeping with one of the two guys she arrived with?”
Murdoch closed his eyes.
He is my boss. I will not kill him.
With every shred of restraint he could muster, he pointed at the door. “Get. Out.”
The door creaked open. “Come out to the arena after you’ve eaten, so I can teach you the finer points of being a plebe. You really need to show more respect for your betters.”
Murdoch lifted his gaze.
One-on-one duels rarely roused his slumbering berserker, and without its preternatural edge he and Webster were evenly matched. Webster had less formal training, but he had a gift for the sword that few men possessed, and he was lightning fast. A sword fight would be an excellent way to blow off some steam.
“I look forward to it.”
Emily drove home with Lachlan, exhausted but content. Bale had taken a cab back to the ranch the previous night, and her mom was resting at the hospital, so the car was quiet. She eyed her stepfather’s face as he maneuvered the car along the windy road through the hills above San Jose.
“Are you disappointed?” she asked.
He tossed her a quick glance. “About what?”
“That the baby’s a girl.”
He smiled. “Absolutely not. Katie’s healthy, that’s enough for me. And from the look of her, I suspect she’ll grow up to be a real beauty, like her sister.”
“Stepsister.”
“Close enough,” he said. He tossed her another look. “I thought you were pleased about the baby.”
“I am.” Just being stupid. Feeling like second fiddle for no good reason. “You deserve to have a kid of your own.”
He pressed a button on the dash. A moment later, he pulled into the estate entrance and squeezed through the slowly opening gate, waving to the Gatherer in the booth as they passed. “Katie was a bonus. Being a parent to you was already satisfying. I enjoy the role I play in your life.”
She smiled. “Even when I backtalk?”
Lachlan halted the car in front of the house, then turned to face her. “No’ so keen about that part, I’ll admit. But it’s less of an issue these days.”
“Yeah, I’m getting older. Got another birthday next week.”
“Sweet sixteen.” Another smile. This one more sly. “I know.”
“Did you get me something?”
“Would I tell you if I did?” He opened the door and climbed out of the car. “And spoil the surprise?”
“You’re cruel.”
He grinned. “Aye. That’s best part of being an evil stepfather.”
Spurred by a happy bubble in her chest, Emily hugged Lachlan. “I’m going over to the arena to check on the trainees. Coming?”
“Give me twenty minutes. I need to take a shower and make sure Katie’s room is ready for her arrival tonight, and then I’ll be there.”
“Pulleez.” Emily rolled her eyes. “You can’t fool me. I know you’re calling the florist. How many dozen roses are you sending to Mom?”
He smiled down at her. “As many as they have.”
“You’re such a sap.”
Planting a kiss on her forehead, he pushed her away. “Go.”
She obligingly turned. “I’m going to see the mushy note eventually, you know.”
“Aye, well, if you hover over me while I craft it, it won’t be genuine. Go.”
Emily crossed the grass to the arena with a smile on her face. Lachlan was okay. Really okay. She tugged open the door of the arena.
As big as a hockey rink inside, the arena had a sand floor and two sets of bleachers, one on each side. In the center, several mock battles were going on, but the one that immediately caught her eye was the one involving the two Japanese warriors.
One guy, one girl, both dressed in long, wide-legged black pants and elbow-length shirts, with some sort of armor over top. Both fighting with two swords—one short and one long—and both attacking quick as rattle-snakes. They moved with such grace and flowing ease that they looked more like a dance couple than battling opponents.
Totally smokin’.
Brian was talking to one of the trainees, so she scrambled up the right-side bleachers and took a seat next to the elderly Japanese man she had gotten the strange vibes from earlier. Sora something-or-other.
“That’s really cool,” she said. “The two-sword thing.”
“
Nitōjutsu
.”
She grimaced. “Sorry. I don’t speak Japanese.”
The old man smiled gently. “The two-sword method is called
nitōjutsu
. It dates back to the time of the great samurai.”
“Oh.” She eyed him more directly. His narrow face was wrinkled and his long hair was white, but his eyes were clear and bright. “Are you their coach?”
“Yes.”
Elbows on her knees, she leaned forward, her attention once again drawn to the sword fight. “Bet it takes a long time to learn moves like that.”
“It depends on how willing a pupil you are.”
“I’m not a very good student. I find it hard to concentrate these days.” Em sighed. “Who am I kidding? Not just lately. I’ve had trouble for the past couple of years.”
“Ever since you started noticing boys?”
She flushed. “Maybe.”
“Very normal,” Sora said, nodding. “Kiyoko-san and Yoshio-san both had the same problem.”
“Those two?” she asked, pointing.
“Yes.”
“You sure can’t tell.” The two danced barefoot, sliding across the sand without a wobble and attacking with absolute precision. They effortlessly deflected slices and resumed their guard positions with an enviable speed.
“Because they’ve learned the art of stilling the mind. You could learn it as well. It’s not difficult.”
“Hmmm.” It was tempting to ask him to teach her, but that seemed pretty rude, considering she barely knew him. “I usually train with Brian, Murdoch, or my stepdad. I’ve been learning the techniques of the old European masters.”
“An excellent foundation.” His gaze lifted to the dark red steak in her hair—the bright lights of the arena no doubt made it hard to ignore—and his expression grew thoughtful. “If you desire to learn the Japanese way of the sword, I would be most pleased to be your sensei.”
“That means teacher.”
He nodded. “You do wish to learn, do you not?”
Em grinned wryly. “Am I that obvious?”
“Yes,” he said with a smile. “But enthusiasm is a virtue.”
A virtue. She had virtues. How cool was that? “Yeah, I’d really like to learn, sensei,” Em said. “When can we start?”
“How about now?”
She blinked. “Uh, I guess so. Do I need a special sword?”
The old man stood. “Not today. We’ll start with words, not weapons. Come, let us find a peaceful place to begin.”
Em chewed her lip for a moment. The strange vibes she got from him didn’t have any hint of darkness, just an air of quiet mystery. Pale gold was, after all, still gold. She glanced at Brian, who was now demonstrating an ox guard for his companion. Then she looked for Murdoch, but the big Scot wasn’t anywhere in sight. Oh, well, they probably wouldn’t miss her anyway.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
She followed Sora out of the arena, wondering how he kept the hem of his black robes so clean when it constantly dragged along the ground. Magic, maybe.
 
A wave of heat rolled over Kiyoko the moment Murdoch stepped into the arena. Her cheeks flushed, but through some small miracle, she maintained her composure and did not falter in her sparring match with Yoshio. A miracle, because this morning’s dream had been the most intimate yet.
The match ended, and she bowed to her opponent.
Yoshio was the closest thing she had to a sibling. He had arrived at her father’s doorstep at the tender age of seven and had trained alongside Kiyoko every day since. Although he lived in the compound and not under her father’s roof, they had spent many an hour together when their studies were done. Climbing hills and trees, naming shapes they saw in the clouds, laughing over their first attempts at divination.
He smiled at her.
They weren’t as close now. Not since he found his first girlfriend and became a little more reserved. But he was never far from her side.
Kiyoko sheathed her katana, then quickly scanned the bleachers for Sora, skipping over the all-too-appealing male body standing next to Brian Webster and Conn Quinn. She wasn’t sure she could ever look Murdoch in the eye again. Not when she knew they shared those dreams.
Sora had disappeared.
She raised a brow at Yoshio, but he shrugged.
“He left a few moments ago.”
How curious. No kata practice this morning. “Shall we go get breakfast, then?”
Yoshio wrinkled his nose. “Did you see what they eat in the morning? Everything is dripping in butter or grease.”
“Murdoch said the cafeteria in the bunkhouse serves all nationalities. We must be able to get some rice and tea.”
A guttural roar echoed through the arena, followed quickly by the metallic slither of sword against sword. Immediately, the mock battles around her ceased and everyone turned to watch, big smiles on their faces. Kiyoko peered over Yoshio’s shoulder to see who was battling whom. She wasn’t entirely surprised to see Murdoch and Brian Webster locked in a fierce test of sword skills.
But she
was
surprised by the hummingbird-fast beat of the duel. And by the snarling aggression on their handsome faces. A serious business, this battle. Murdoch’s swings sang with power and precision, but Webster appeared to be holding his own, attacking and parrying with breathtaking agility.
Both men scored on each other within seconds. Murdoch took a cut to the left arm and Webster a slice to the shoulder. Neither paid any mind. They continued to draw blood with a cavalier attitude that made Kiyoko wince.
“My money’s on Murdoch,” said one nearby Soul Gatherer.
“Don’t be so sure,” responded his colleague, tugging his wallet out of his pants and peeling off two twenties. “He won’t let the berserker rise during a practice duel, so I’m betting Webster kicks his ass.”
BOOK: Surrender to Darkness
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