Warrior Rogue (The Drift Lords Series) (2 page)

Her glance roamed to his chest, where a tangle of golden hair tempted her to feel its texture. His scent entered her nostrils, a strange mixture of sea air and salt.

Her temples pounded. Oh, no. Afraid she’d segue into another vision, she grabbed the trousers Sandi brought over and thrust them at him.

When he just stood there, she clucked her tongue. “What’s the matter with you? Put these on. And take your watch off. It doesn’t belong in this scene.”

He plucked the pants from her fingers and pulled them on while she averted her gaze. When he muttered under his breath, she dared to look again. Poor fellow fumbled with the drawstring ties at his waist as though he didn’t know what to do with them. Good God, what planet did he come from?

She grabbed the ends, pulled tight, and tied a bow, all the while conscious of his proximity and powerful musculature.

Standing so close, she had a terrible urge to feast her eyes on him. He was quite the man, and it had been a while since she’d split with her last boyfriend.

Resolutely looking into his crystalline eyes, she moistened her lips. Her throat had gone dry when she touched his skin. “I hope you’ve been briefed on your role.”

His brow furrowed. “Of course. I know what to do.”

His deep voice resonated through her like warm honey, turning her bones fluid and making her belly flip-flop.

Best to finish this as fast as possible.

She offered him a linen shirt next followed by a brick red tunic. When she’d studied what Vikings had worn, she had been pleased to learn they dyed their fabrics in bold shades. Wealthy people wore clothing trimmed in silk with gold or silver threads. These styles became the inspiration for her unique designs.

Paz donned the garments and stuffed his watch into a pants pocket. After he secured a leather belt around his waist, she gave him a cloak to fasten at his shoulder with a faux gold brooch. The cobalt color brought out the ocean blue of his eyes. He glanced at her, and she blushed to be caught staring.

She stepped away as he tugged on his boots. The makeup artist bustled over to bring some order to his unruly hair and to dab cover-up on the dark shadows under his eyes. Odd that he hadn’t fixed that problem when he’d applied his fake lacerations. And was that scratch on his cheekbone starting to smear?

The director called for everyone to take their places. Jen retreated with Sandi to a spot off to the side where they could observe. Ready for any wardrobe disasters, she prayed they’d get this done in as few takes as possible.

Mr. Nakamura issued instructions, but the new guy wasn’t listening. He tensed as the pace picked up. Jen swallowed. Did he understand what his role required?

“Action,” the director yelled in the equivalent Japanese.

Lars Anderson, the Scandinavian actor hired to play the bad guy, charged onto the set wearing what accounted for full battle armor in those days: a chain mail tunic and conical helmet complete with metal eye and nose guards. He looked ferocious with his full beard, blazing eyes, and feral grin. Swinging a long-handled battle-axe, he gave a chilling war whoop.

Fake blood sprayed as he attacked the villagers. Carnage resulted. Or rather, what would appear to be carnage on screen. While the other actors screamed in mock fright, the man called Paz reached behind his back. A startled look crossed his face as though he expected to find a weapon there.

Chaos broke around him. Jen hoped he knew his moves. He was supposed to use his magical power to stop the villain dead in his tracks.

That didn’t appear to be his intention. Instead, Paz launched himself at Lars as though the hounds of hell were on his heels.

Pow, thunk, thud.

His fists and feet aimed practiced blows at his opponent.

Lars didn’t even have time to feign a defense. He raised his arms, but Paz’s punches hit home with unswerving accuracy.

Along with the cast and crew, Jen watched in fascinated horror. Were the cameras getting this? The director observed in stunned silence as his cameramen kept filming.

Paz smashed the hapless actor on the jaw. With a howl of pain mingled with surprise, Lars wheeled around. Jen’s heart leapt into her throat when Paz lunged for a stick on the ground.

Her eyes widened. Was that a yardstick? Someone must have left it there by mistake. What did Paz want with it?

Stop, she wanted to say but her mouth wouldn’t form the word. Wrong prop. And you’re playing a Norse god. You don’t need a weapon.

Paz twirled the yardstick like a staff before striking Lars at mid-thigh. The stick snapped, but Paz kept his motion flowing, following through with a kick to the same spot. Lars cried out, his legs crumpling. He went down—flat on his back.

Immediately, Paz planted a foot on Lars’s chest and pointed the broken yardstick at his throat. His arms tensed.

In another instant, he’d put a lethal vent into the guy’s trachea. What was the matter with him?

“Don’t move,” Jen hollered, recovering her voice.

Paz hesitated, stick poised in the air.

“You’re hurting him. Haven't you filmed a fight scene before?”

“Fight scene?” Paz’s brow creased, as he regarded her with puzzlement.

Meanwhile, crew members rushed forward to break the men apart. One man put out an arm to hold Paz back, while another helped Lars to his feet.

“Where’s the first aid station? Ow, my leg.” Lars cast Paz a scathing glance. “What’s wrong with you, mate? You cudda killed me.”

Blood oozed from a cut on his bottom lip. He yanked the helmet off his head and swiped his mouth. “I’m bleeding, you idiot. If I have any marks on my face, my career is ruined. Ruined! You’ll hear from my lawyer.” With a growl, he limped backstage and out of sight.

Jen scuttled over. Could this day get any worse?

She gripped Paz’s arm. “Didn’t you study fight scene choreography when you took acting classes? You could have seriously injured Mr. Anderson.”

Across the room, the director spouted a torrent of words at the crew. Jen was sure he must be chewing them out. It wasn’t their fault, for heaven’s sake.

“What do you mean?” Paz shook her off. “He was butchering those villagers. I couldn’t stand by and let that beast murder people.”

She stared into his confused blue eyes. “Paz, they were acting. You know, pretending,” she explained when he shook his head in bewilderment. “This set, all that blood, it’s fake.”

“I don’t understand. People were screaming, fleeing in panic.” He lifted his chin. “It is my duty as a Drift Lord to protect them.”

“You’re playing a Norse god. You were supposed to use magic to defeat your enemy and not pick up a stick on the ground. A yardstick, no less! Didn’t you get a script?”

“Your words have no meaning for me.” He rubbed a hand over his weary face. His fingers came back stained with crimson. “Is this fake, too? My head pounds as though hit by a hammer.”

“Good Lord, you’re really bleeding.” Jen examined the gash on the side of his head. “These wounds are real. No wonder you’re so out of it. What happened to you?”

“I remember an impact, and then…nothing.”

Her mind somersaulted on what she knew about the guy. He showed up here naked and confused, and everyone assumed he’d prepared for his role. Had the poor fellow been in such a rush to take the job that he’d had an accident along the way? A concussion would explain his strange behavior.

She crooked her finger, signaling Sandi who’d been consulting with the makeup artist.

“Yuki says she didn’t touch the cuts on this man’s face because he had done such a good job of applying paint.” Sandi squinted at him. “That stuff is smearing, but she’s afraid to come any closer to fix it.”

“That’s because his wounds are real.” Jen turned to Paz. “This is my assistant, Sandi. We’re both concerned about you. Tell us what happened on the way here. You must have been in an accident.”

“Accident…yes. No. The images are—how do you say it? My mind is unclear.”

Mr. Nakamura broke off from his conversation and strode in their direction. From his taut posture and pinched face, Jen expected a reprimand.

“Security said no one drove through the studio entrance.” Poor Akeno looked as though he had swallowed a lemon pit as he translated the director’s words. “How did this man get here?”

“I think he may have been in an accident.” Jen glanced at Paz. His lips were clamped together, his complexion pale.
Don't pass out,
she pleaded silently.
We need to get you to a doctor.
“He could have left his car behind, walked the rest of the way, and stumbled through the gate. A head injury would account for his confusion.”

Sandi’s eyebrows lifted. “I’ve known a lot of desperate actors in my time, but this? If he really got whacked on the head, he belongs in the hospital.”

“You’re right. I’ll take him.”

For some reason, she felt drawn to the newcomer. Maybe it was the lost look in his eyes, or perhaps his unstable state of health. Being ill in a foreign country could be terrifying, and he could use her support.

Sandi drew her aside. “Are you nuts? You don’t know anything about this guy. Like, he could get violent again.”

“I’ll be all right. He seems to respond to me, so I can get him through the hospital hoopla. In the meantime, check on Keith and see if he’s on his way yet. I’m counting on you for damage control.”

The translator gestured to her. “Miss Dyhr, the director wants this actor’s contact information.”

Did he plan to press charges against the poor guy, too? She shouldn’t be surprised. Mr. Nakamura would need to save face in the producer’s view. Forget their opinion of her—it must be blown to hell by this incident.

Jen had been completely unaware Norse mythology interested video gamers until Sandi pointed out a couple of games titled
Viking Warrior:
Bridge to Asgard
and
Valkyrie Knights
. This revelation had opened a whole realm of possibility for her. She’d designed wardrobes for feature films and magazine shoots galore, but never an ad for a video game company.

She’d been so excited when her hairstylist brought the Japanese producer into her Manhattan showroom, and he’d called afterward to offer a job. It gave her the perfect opportunity to extend her brand.

“Mr. Nakamura, this man needs medical attention.” She thrust her chin forward, determined to salvage her reputation by assuming responsibility. “With your permission, I’ll take him to the hospital. If Keith still isn’t here by the time I return, I promise to call the casting office myself for a replacement. I’m so sorry for the delay.”

After giving him another respectful bow, she turned to Sandi. “I’ll order my driver to bring the car around. Try to appease the big wigs while I’m gone. We have to find some way to salvage this situation.”

Jen led Paz backstage to change into some borrowed street clothes. Then she herded the newcomer out the exit and into the busy midday traffic.

Chapter Two

Paz came to his senses in the back seat of a ground vehicle beside a beautiful woman. What had she called herself? Jennifer, although the short blonde addressed her as Jen. He remembered that much from the nightmarish barbarian attack.

When he’d regained consciousness earlier, he had no idea where he had landed. The first people he’d seen had been the costumed characters, making him think he had been cast back in time to the Viking era. Jen had been an anomaly. He’d focused on her at once, ignoring the others around them. Then came the attack on the villagers. He’d reacted automatically as per his training.

Once he realized it was a film set, he deduced that he must have spatial shifted from his point of origin in Orlando, Florida. That meant he’d traversed a spontaneous rift in the space-time continuum. Things would only get worse unless he accomplished his mission, and until then, he had to survive.

Jen sat alongside him. She wore her raven hair secured in a twist, highlighting the delicate angles of her face. Her long dress stuck to the cushion, pulling on her bodice and giving him a tantalizing view of her cleavage.

By Odin’s grace, he didn’t need this distraction now. He had to find out what happened to his team.

At his last recollection, they’d stormed an enemy facility housing a jamming device that blocked their sensor readings. Their objective had been to destroy the antenna and its power source. Paz had no idea if his friends had succeeded. A beefy Trollek soldier had shoved him into a pit filled with a chopping, whirling mechanism.

He’d hit his head and bounced off a wall, tumbling to the bottom where the sea rushed in a torrential current. Yanked underwater and tossed about like a particle of sand, he’d lost his clothing and his consciousness.

Paz didn’t remember much else until he awoke backstage at the film studio. Hearing voices, he’d stumbled in their direction and rounded a corner onto the village set. His face heated when he remembered his natural state and people’s stares.

“Where should I take you?” Jen asked in a soft tone.

“That depends. Where are we?” He glanced out the window. Neon signs advertised a sword museum, an arts center, and a department store. He could read the English well enough with his implanted universal translator.

“I thought the doctor did a neurological exam on you. He said you were clear to go.” Jen’s eyes widened in alarm.

A healer at their medical center had cleaned and treated his wounds. He’d been fortunate none of his injuries were more serious than a crack on the head and minor lacerations, meaning he could resume his mission.

“I know we’re in Tokyo. I meant to ask where we are headed?”

Relief flitted across her face. “Let me see if Keith made it to the set first before we make any decisions.”

Jen pulled out a rectangular object from her handbag. Paz recognized it as the crude communication device called a cellular phone. He smiled inwardly. As communications officer for the Drift Lords, he could upgrade that to a Class IV Portable Intel Platform, or PIP, with the proper added components.

Jen punched numbers on her touchpad. “Hello, Sandi?” She held the phone to her ear. “Yes, it’s me. What’s going on?”