Dreams of a Dark Warrior

but never had one looked at him with recognition and then … hurt. As if he’d broken the gravest promise.
    Never had he nearly vomited in the midst of a capture.
    He lifted the rubber-edged dog tags hanging around his neck. Behind one, he’d soldered a small medallion, an old Irish charm for luck. His da had bought it for him when Declan was a lad. At times like this, Declan would rub his thumb over it, though no luck had ever come of it.
    It was a reminder of what her kind had cost him, what they were capable of.
    The Valkyrie had killed ten of his men.
    And yet he couldn’t stop himself from glancing athis cabin door. She was in the transport bay. He could reach it easily from here.
    What is this?
Why did Declan feel like he’d die if he didn’t see her that second?
    He recalled that expression of ecstasy on her face—and the way he’d responded. He remembered his thoughts at that moment, was shamed by the ideas that had arisen.
    To touch that glowing skin, to be burned by it …
    When he’d seized her in his arms, he’d nearly groaned. That had been the most his body had touched a female’s in years. Her scent and curves had tantalized him.
    But in the end, his training had taken over, and he’d stabbed her.
    He reached beside the bed, collecting the sword he always kept close. He unsheathed it, turning it back and forth in the muted cabin light. Crimson still stained the blade near the hilt.
    How much blood it has spilled.
Immortal blood.
    Just two nights ago, he’d used it to capture an ancient vampire, one that had killed thousands of humans over its unending lifetime, like a silent plague.
    Preston Webb had given Declan the blade for his Order initiation, telling him, “Your family would have been proud, son.”
    If they hadn’t been tortured by detrus creatures right before my eyes.
    Right alongside me …
    Best that they hadn’t survived. Else they’d be as fucked in the head as Declan was. And his brother,Colm? Who’d had his throat slit at fifteen years old?
    Colm had been the lucky one.
    With an inward shake, Declan sheathed the sword.
Why am I thinking about that night now?
He’d buried those memories deep; his medicine helped keep them there.
    He’d been considering doubling up on his doses for months. Now he decided it was time. Which meant he’d need to see his “pusher” upon returning to the island. For now, he could do nothing but wait.
    Another glance at the door …
    When Regin woke, she was bound and gagged, with a hood over her head and her body strapped to a gurney of some sort. She could tell she was on a plane, could scent saltwater miles beneath them.
    Can this night get any worse?
    Memories flooded her consciousness: shadowy men shooting her with electricity … her bliss from said electricity … a large male with uncanny speed getting the drop on her. …
    He’d stabbed her in the side? The pain still throbbing there confirmed her injury—
    Ah, gods! He’d been Aidan, returned once more.
    She felt crazed, almost laughing hysterically. Had she thought this night couldn’t get any worse?
Aidan, have you come to perish gruesomely? Then I’m your girl!
    But never in his other lifetimes had he harmed her. If he was truly Aidan, then surely those other men were evil, and he’d had to play along.
    By twisting the knife?
    He’d been so fast, powerful. No surprise there. In each reincarnation, he’d been a berserker, even if he hadn’t known it.
    No matter what, she had to get away from him. She strained against the bindings securing her wrists behind her back. Nothing. Likely unbreakable. And that injection had probably weakened her.
    Forced to lie here, bound, in pitch darkness.
    Regin didn’t have Zen, wasn’t insane like Nïx or laser-focused like Lucia. Each second like this, in a plane taking her farther from where she needed to be, was maddening. “Oh, you’ll fly out tonight,” Nïx had told her.
Yuk it up. You’re
so
going to pay.
    But why would Nïx do this? Especially after the bomb she’d dropped on Regin right before they’d separated on Bourbon Street: “When Cruach rises this time, he’ll ring in the apocalypse. Every sentient being on earth will become infected with the need to sacrifice whoever they love most.”
    Uh, man down here, Nïx.
One fewer apocalypse aversion associate.
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, soothsayer—
    The click of a door sounded. Then footsteps. Someone sat next to her. She could feel tension rolling off him, knew it was