Darkest Flame (3 page)

It was unfortunate that his body demanded such release. He glanced down at the woman in his arms. She was thin, but her muscles were finely honed. Her dark hair was held back away from her face in a knot so he had no idea how long it was.

Kellan barely looked at her face. There was no need. He never planned to see her again once he deposited her at Con’s feet, even though Kellan admired her courage and tenacity. That’s all she would get from him.

That’s all he could give.

It was much more than he had given a human in thousands of years.

Kellan navigated the corridors of his mountain easily until he came to the entrance. Just as he expected, Con, along with Rhys and Kiril, stood waiting for him.

Con’s face was grim, his blond hair wet from the rain that drenched the world outside. “I knew it had to be something important for you to call to me. Who is she?”

“I doona know, and I doona care,” Kellan said as he tried to hand her over to Con.

Instead, Con clasped his hands behind his back, clearly refusing to touch her, and inhaled deeply. “You found her wounded?”

Of course Con would think he had hurt her. Kellan didn’t blame him, not after what sent him to sleep in the first place.

“Nay. She located my cave,” Kellan bit out as he tried to keep his anger in check. He didn’t want to hold the female any longer or smell her scent or feel her curves. “Take her so I can return to my sleep.”

Rhys raked a hand through his long, dark hair before wiping the rain from his face. “Most of the other Kings have been awake for months. Did you no’ hear Con’s call to arms several months ago?”

“If I did, would I have remained asleep?” Kellan asked, a brow lifted as he stared flatly at Rhys.

“This isna the first time our borders have been breached,” Con said before Rhys could respond. “I need you to take a few days and return with me to the manor. After we have this woman settled and her memory wiped, you can resume your sleep, old friend.”

Kellan didn’t bother arguing. He didn’t like hearing Dreagan’s borders had been crossed, and if Con issued a call to arms, then it must have been important. “Fine. But someone take her.”

Kiril’s green eyes danced with humor as he turned away. “You look as if you’ve got her in hand. She’s nicely formed too. Are you tempted?”

The woman’s head turned, bringing her cheek against Kellan’s shoulder. Her fever raged, reminding him why he’d called Con in the first place.

“She’s fevered,” Kellan said, his gaze locked on Con as he ignored Kiril’s question.

Con said not a word as he closed the distance between them and laid a hand on the female’s forehead. “Aye. I’m anxious to know what happened to her.”

“There’s another in my cave. They fought, and the female killed him.”

“No’ good news.” Con frowned. “In that case, I think it might be better if our visitor isna completely healed until we have more information from her.”

He didn’t care what Con did as long as he took the woman. Kellan didn’t want to be responsible for her anymore. He’d done his duty and brought her to Constantine. That should be enough.

It had to be enough.

As Con used his magic and healed the woman enough so that her fever vanished, Kellan looked over the King of Kings. Con wore black slacks and a white dress shirt with the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows. Con’s blond hair was shorter than last time, but his black eyes still saw everything.

Kellan then glanced at Rhys and Kiril who stood at the entrance of the mountain with their backs to them. Each wore jeans and boots. While Rhys donned a thin, dark olive-green sweater, Kiril wore a simple white tee.

“That should do it,” Con said and stepped back. “It’s a good thing I had Kiril drive with this storm.”

Rhys chuckled. “His driving has improved enough in the six months he’s been awake that he’s no longer hitting sheep.”

“I only hit the one, damn you,” Kiril said testily and shoved Rhys.

Con walked between them, and once he was past, Rhys’s arm swung wide and lightly punched Kiril in the jaw before he ran into the storm. Kiril gave a shout and followed.

Kellan looked toward the outside world he wanted no part of, to the woman in his arms. The sooner he got her to the manor, the sooner he could return to his cave and to sleep.

Yet, somehow, deep in his soul, he knew as soon as he left the mountain, his life would change forever.

Kellan walked to the opening and looked through the curtain of rain to find his friends waiting for him in a black vehicle that read “Range Rover” across the front.

He met Con’s patient gaze before he stepped out of his mountain.

CHAPTER THREE

Denae slowly came awake, but kept her eyes closed. Even without looking around she knew she was no longer in the dark mountain by the clean smell and light hitting her eyelids. Who had found her? And where had they taken her?

After what Matt had divulged, she couldn’t return to MI5. They would kill her one way or another for the information she now knew about the setup of Dreagan and MI5’s interest. She could inform those at Dreagan, if they believed her. Yet, where could she go afterward? The agency would easily track her down.

There was movement around her and a chair squeaked as someone rose to their feet. When the door opened a second later, a male voice spoke in low tones to someone else in the room.

“How is she?”

“The same,” said a deep, gravelly voice close to her. It sounded as if the man hadn’t used it in a long time.

“She’s been sleeping for twelve hours.”

“I know.” The irritation and annoyance practically dripped from his voice.

He didn’t want her there, whoever
he
was. The other man who came into the room seemed genuinely worried about her, however. If she was lucky, maybe he wasn’t part of MI5.

“Let me know the moment there’s change,” said the first man before the door closed behind him.

The floor creaked as the irritated man walked around her bed. “You can open your eyes now.”

For a split second, Denae thought of staying as she was, but the man knew she was awake. Why pretend? She opened her eyes and found herself looking at a chair covered in a navy-and-red plaid. The chair the man had been sitting in, she mused.

It was close to the bed, giving him access to tend to her? Or to keep watch?

Probably the latter.

Denae turned her head to get a look at the room and found him standing with his back to her as he gazed out the large window opposite her bed. His hair hung down the middle of his back in thick, loose, caramel waves.

He kept shifting his shoulders as if the deep orange tee was confining when it shaped his shoulders, arms, and back to perfection.

His arms hung loose by his sides, but his fingers gripped the windowsill, telling her that being in the room was the last place he wanted to be.

Her gaze lingered on his wide, thick shoulders that tapered to narrow hips. Slung low on those hips was a pair of dark denim jeans, which hugged his bum nicely.

As much as she was enjoying the view, her mission had been compromised. If she survived long enough to leave Dreagan—because there was no doubt that’s exactly where she was—she wouldn’t be alive long enough to pack her bags and get on the first flight back to Texas.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

Denae tentatively tested her left side before she carefully pulled herself up against the headboard. “It’s minimal.”

The silence lengthened until she thought he’d fallen asleep standing up. Suddenly he turned to face her, and her breath locked in her lungs. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded.

The man before her was as beautiful as a god, as blinding in his anger as the sun. And she couldn’t look away.

His caramel-colored hair was parted on the side and hung in those same waves around a face sculpted from granite. He had high cheekbones and hollow cheeks that gave way to a hard jawline and square chin. His lips were wide and seductively full. His eyes, a startling celadon, held her captive in his intense, almost cruel gaze.

Somehow she pulled away from his eyes and looked down to his chest, which was just as impressive as his back. The tee molded to the thick sinew of his arms and chest.

He was a man who took action, a man who suffered no fools. A man who wouldn’t rest until he had all the answers he wanted.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

She was drawn once more into his pale green eyes. “My name is Denae Lacroix.”

“Well, hello, Denae,” said a voice from the doorway.

Her head snapped to the door to find a tall, commanding man with surfer-boy blond hair and eyes as black as pitch. He was tall and broad of shoulder, and she had a feeling his dress clothes hid a body corded with muscle.

He stood confidently, his control over the house obvious. He was the leader, the one who would determine if she lived or died.

Behind him was a woman holding a tray of food.

How had Denae not known someone was at the door? The hinges popped when it opened. She was usually more aware of her surroundings than that.

She glanced to the man by the window, but he had already looked away. As if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Disappointment settled uncomfortably in her belly. She’d been so drawn to him that the world had simply vanished. It had never happened before, and in her line of work, that could get her killed.

And obviously the attraction was one-sided.

“Do you know where you are?” the man from the doorway asked as he walked into the room.

The woman
tsk
ed and hurried to Denae, placing the tray across her legs. “Con, please. She’s injured and most likely starving.”

“She trespassed.”

This came from the man at the window. How Denae wished she knew his name. Even when she was looking at the others, she couldn’t completely pull her attention from him.

“Hi,” said the woman with a bright smile and coffee-colored eyes. “I’m Cassie. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I brought a little of everything.”

Denae couldn’t help but return her smile. “You’re American.”

“Yep. From Arizona actually. You?”

“South Texas.”

Cassie’s eyes widened as she pushed her brunette hair over her shoulder. “We’ll have to catch up later.”

“I’d like that.” And Denae meant it. She hadn’t thought she would miss the States, but after being gone for so long, she did. She cleared her throat to settle herself and looked at the man Cassie had called Con. “Yes, I know where I am. I’m on Dreagan.”

“We’ll get to the why of that in a moment,” he said and settled himself into a slender chair near the window that looked too dainty to hold someone of his size.

He sat as if he were relaxed, but he reminded Denae of a caged lion just waiting for a reason to attack. And when the attack came, it would be quick.

And lethal.

“My name is Constantine. Have you heard of me?”

She glanced at the other man. Again. “Only in reports. I know nothing else.”

“Reports?” asked the unknown man, his gaze flickering briefly to her.

Con leaned forward in the chair and motioned to the second man. “This is Kellan, Denae. He’s the one … who found you.”

Con’s pause was deliberate, but she didn’t understand its meaning. Her gaze returned to Kellan to find he had once more turned to look out the window, dismissing her as irrelevant.

Damn, but he was gorgeous. Even if the thought of being in the same room with her annoyed him.

“Who sent you?” Con asked.

Denae lifted the glass of water from the tray and drained the entire contents before she bit off a piece of toast, chewed, and swallowed. That little bit helped to ease the hunger gnawing at her. “I wish it was as simple as telling you.”

“You’re safe here,” Cassie said.

Denae smiled sadly and stared at the tray of food, her appetite suddenly gone. “I was betrayed.”

“By who?” Cassie urged.

What difference did it make if they knew? They could have let her die. Instead, they brought her back and tended to her wound. Was it a ruse, though? She had been well and truly betrayed by MI5. Denae no longer knew who to trust, but her odds were on those at Dreagan at the moment.

In all her missions, with all the insight she’d gained from people, she had learned one hard lesson—the only one she could trust was herself.

She lifted her gaze to Con. “If I tell you, can you get me out of the country under a different name?”

“You want to disappear?” he asked, intrigued.

“Yes. If I can get out of the country, I’ll make sure I’m never found.”

Cassie sank into the chair beside the bed. “And if they find you?”

“They’ll kill me. It’s what Matt tried to do. I was bait.”

“Bait,” Con repeated slowly, his brow furrowed. “Tell me who sent you.”

“MI5.” Denae almost expected MI5 operatives to bust the door down at the mere mention of their name. They did claim to know everything that was going on.

Con surged to his feet and paced the room in silence. For the first time Denae actually noticed the room and not just Kellan.

The bedroom was spacious, with the large window in front of the bed and two narrower ones on either side letting in an abundance of light. The walls were painted a muted steel blue with eggshell-colored crown molding so large and intricate that it boggled her mind.

The floors were dark hardwood with rugs of varying sizes and colors placed throughout. A fireplace with a white marble mantel was on her right.

A cream comforter accented with navy piping around the edges lay across the mattress of the four-poster bed. Next to the bed was a small table with an antique-looking clock and an array of yellow daffodils and white tulips.

The window dressings were the same cream as the comforter with navy sheers pushed aside to let in the light. A picture of a sunset over a loch filled one wall, while an ornately framed oval mirror graced another, and a collection of small square pictures of what could only be described as Scottish life filled another.

It was a gender-neutral room, and she found the colors soothing. She had never been partial to floral prints or pastels.