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Vela’s gaze had narrowed to a fine point that encompassed the warrior from her nightmare who had saved Santiago, the one called Samuel, the one now turned in the direction of the risers, a furrow between his brows as he scanned the crowd.
From the time he had passed by the risers, some kind of ascended knowing had possessed her, as though she already knew this man. He looked made for war in battle gear, and whether he realized it or not, he had a Warrior of the Blood thing going on with his black hair long and bound in a leather strap. He had moved like war and grace combined, a lethal fluid stride surrounded by a dark aura, and her body had bloomed for him.
“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Donna whispered.
Vela couldn’t respond. She wanted to, she wanted to expound on Donna’s theme, but her vocal chords wouldn’t work.
The strangest part of all, however, was that she swore she could smell him, that a stream of something warm, male, and wonderfully bitter like dark chocolate, emanated from him.
The scent filtered through her nostrils and began to drift into other parts of her body. Her thoughts funneled down farther to the warrior as though nothing else in this room existed and when his searching gaze found her, something really strange happened: she heard his thoughts like a soft whisper through her mind, She’s the one. She’s mine.
She felt naked beneath his gaze, and the stream of his scent thickened as he took several steps toward the risers. Her lips parted and she shifted in her seat like she couldn’t get comfortable. Her breasts felt heavy and achy. Her nipples beaded and pleasure descended very low until her breath hitched and the deepest part of her began long hard pulls on something that wasn’t there, but needed to be there, the sooner the better.
She felt bathed in pleasure and all she’d done was catch Samuel Daman’s scent and meet his gaze.
You’re mine. Samuel sent the thought again, straight at the woman in the risers, the one with a mass of wild, long blond hair, and large blue eyes.
A wave of her delicate floral scent hit him, and his breath caught. Her perfume affected the nerves in his body.
Streaks of lightning shot down his arms and legs, firing up his muscles. His neck grew almost rigid. His back started to arch and harsh sounds formed in his throat. He felt his dark power rise, and his mist started to swirl around him.
He took another deep breath through his nostrils. The perfume wafted in, and a new fire lit up his brain. He had to get to this woman.
She stood up and reached a hand toward him.
His vision tunneled down to the tips of those fingers. What happened next became a blur. He ran or levitated or partially folded to her position, he wasn’t sure, then grabbed her and pulled her out of the crowd, holding her against him and hauling her off the risers.
The alarms started shrieking as did several of the ascenders in the risers, though he didn’t know why.
A thundering followed.
Maybe he heard Luken’s voice.
HQ must be under attack, though he didn’t see the enemy, just the room moving in a strange way.
Still holding the woman in his arms, the one he had to get to safety, had to protect with every ounce of his being, he folded her to the corner of the room behind a weightlifting machine. He released her then ordered her to hunker down. He turned around to face the room, folding his identified sword into his right hand, his dagger to his left, ready to take the enemy on, to battle ten, a hundred, a thousand death vampires if necessary to keep his woman safe.
His dark mist rose in swirls around him, that part of his power he could control. He shifted on his feet, turning in an arc. Let the enemy come.
The alarms stopped suddenly.
The workout center had emptied of spectators, which would make it easier to battle what came at him. But Endelle had returned and the other warriors seemed strangely relaxed. None of them bore a sword in hand, which made no sense.
His vision was still off, even a little blurred.
“So this is what Santiago was telling us about,” Endelle called from across the room. “Look how much more defined his muscles are, bigger, too. And that mist is some bad-ass shit! Holy motherfucker. ” Samuel stayed in his battle pose, sword aloft, dagger ready.
“Stand down, warrior,” Luken commanded. “You’re among friends. No enemy here. ”
“I heard the alarms,” he shouted, unwilling to relax his guard. His woman was behind him and needed to be protected at all costs, even if he died doing it.
More strange things happened: Thorne started to smile, then laugh. Jean- Pierre followed, which made Samuel completely uncertain about what was happening. These were Warriors of the Blood, all three men, and now Luken grinned and Santiago shook his head.
“Fold those damn weapons away,” Endelle shouted, “before you hurt the woman behind you. Aw fuck. ” She turned to Thorne. “You deal with this goddamn breh-hedden shit. ” She lifted her arm and though all four warriors tried to stop her, she folded and the alarms started shrieking again. Luken once more got on his phone and seconds later, the alarms stopped, but he stayed on the phone. After about a minute, he called out, “Samuel, get rid of your weapons.
This is a false alarm. Apache Two is locked down and I just got clearance for you to fold your sword and dagger out of here. Now do it. ” Samuel’s head finally began to clear so that he could see Luken was right. He released his weapons, folding them back to his weapons locker. He still didn’t understand what had happened. His brain had slipped into some kind of overdrive that made no sense.
“Are you Samuel?” The voice, his woman’s voice , played a soft melody over his ears. As he turned, she rose from the floor where he’d pushed her down to make sure she was safe.
