The Sentinel Keeper (Forest Series) (4 page)

Jackson. Melchior felt his blood pumping and a feeling of hot irrational rage come over him.

Who was this Jackson?

“I ran a quick search for her. Seems she is the star investigative reporter for the paper. So yeah, I reckon we have a problem on our hands.”

“She’s a problem all right,” Melchior nodded.

Aslan was watching him with a grin on his face. Just the sight of it annoyed Melchior. He moved towards him deliberately.

“What you smiling?” he growled. He shoved his face in front of the smirking one. “You want me to wipe that smile off your pretty face?”

Aslan wasn’t his oldest friend for being a pussy. Melchior felt a surge of relief as the male pulled himself up to his full height. He was the only person who would openly challenge him. In a flash his thoughts again went to short, cropped black hair and laughing eyes. Gods she had challenged him.

“Back down,” Aslan hissed, blue eyes meeting Melchior’s green ones. If needs be they would settle this with their fists as they had a hundred times before.

Melchior didn’t move. Both of them faced off in the middle of the room, the air turning cold with their aggression.

“I’m smiling at you. It seems you have a problem you need to handle. Unless you want me to take care of her.”

Blood pounded in Melchior’s head, a red haze of rage descending on him. He moved so quickly that Aslan didn’t even have time to react, throwing him on the floor and pressing his arm deep into his neck, cutting off his air. His strength was so great that he almost felt the spinal cord snap before he tore himself back.

“That was for the cut earlier,” he hissed.

Aslan’s eyes narrowed as he sat up rubbing his hand over his bruised neck.

“Don’t you touch her. Ever. I’ll sort it out tonight later tonight.’” He spat out as he stalked out of the training room naked. He stormed along the stone corridors and up into his tower. She was making a fool out of him.

The door to his bedroom slammed shut behind him and Melchior stalked to the window and looked out over the forest. He hoped the icy winter air would his blood. He was off-centre.

His forest. He was Lord here and everybody knew it.

He could feel the forest now in his blood. He could feel every tree and every movement down below. He knew she was no longer there. But his power extended beyond that and the ground gave up its secrets to him. He felt his power surge through the earth along the soil and under the town until the female’s particular frequency came to him.

Got her, he thought as he turned away to pull on some clothes.

He strapped a long fighting sword across his chest he stood at the window above the black forest, waiting below him like a familiar friend. He would deal with her later. But right now he was joining his men on patrol. It was just what he needed to clear his head.

He stepped from the window into the cold night air. For aching seconds he plummeted towards the ground, the freezing forest air rushing past him as it ripped through his clothes. The ground loomed before him, racing towards him and a bone-crunching impact. But he knew that was no way out for him or his kind. Centuries ago, locked in his torment in an immortal jail he had tried that. Immortals like him did not die, not even if they craved it with their every breath. The ground was so close he could taste it when, in a flash of light he changed form, flashing across the sky in a bolt of raw lightening.

Melchior took form from light into solid on a cold outcrop far in the frozen lands. Behind him rolled the thunder that was the warrior Blane and beside him he felt the familiar wind that carried Aslan. Blane stalked over to Melchior, shaking off the low rumble that moved with him, as sound became matter. His long dark hair streamed behind him and a pair of daggers crossed his chest. But Blane’s weapon of choice was already in his hand, a lethal crossbow that shot bolts made of honed steel. They were the perfect weapons against the demon changelings from the underworld ruled by Lord Niyan.

Aslan preferred hand-to-hand combat and the warrior was a master at a close kill. Already he had a dagger in one hand and a long stabbing sword in the other. The three of them formed a tight circle as the sea lashed the rocks.

“Sorry to cut into your date,” Aslan grinned, “but we just got the Intel. Scouts picked up this breeding colony about five minutes ago during a routine passover.”  He grinned. “It seems we have hit the motherload”

The three of them looked at the entrance to a dark tunnel that lead from the rock seemingly to the centre of the earth.

Blane dropped a duffel bag next to the rock with a heavy thump and started to pull out a small arsenal of explosives. The man was an asset in any fight, but he was a loner who kept to himself and he had started a steady downward spiral over the last century. He was a loose cannon with a predilection for dangerous situations and lethal explosives.

“I say we go in strong,” he said strapping a remote fuse to two kilos of penthrite. A grin was plastered over his impossibly handsome face. “This will light up half the Northern sky.”

Melchior nodded. Most nights he would have craved the thrill of hand-to-hand combat and itched to let himself loose on a few mini-demons. But tonight he had other things on his mind.

“Let’s smoke them then mop it up,” he said, scowling at Blane. The cocky bastard just grinned back; the thought of the fight that would ensue as the survivors tried to flee was probably foremost on his mind.

Blane nodded.

“You ladies want to step back a little?” he asked.

Both of them shook their heads.

Blane grinned as he pulled the fuse and dropped it into the hole.

The three of them stood in circle of steel as the explosives dropped down into the dark pits of the earth. The explosion when it hit was muffled, rumbling far below them.

Blane stepped back and loaded his crossbow with bolts with a smirk.

“Five. Four. Three. Two…”

There was a flutter of wings as the breeding demons that had not been smoked started to pour out of the underground hole, reaching for the clean air of the sky and certain death.

As he hit ‘one; the roar erupted from his mouth like a hurricane.

It was a fight the demons were destined to lose. Three warriors stood like sentinels of death at the entrance to the hole, whirling and cutting until the last of the demon lay below them cut and very dead. They were half formed; demon babies that were still maturing under the earth and their bodies formed a grotesque twisted pile of flesh and wings.

Melchior looked at his brothers. All three of them were covered in blood and looked grim. Only Blane was grinning, his long hair dripping with blood he looked jubilant, his eyes a fiery glow. The island was eerily quiet, still below where the colony was gutted. But he felt no pride in the massacre, just emptiness. He could see Blane was battling to reign in the raging power he still felt coursing through his veins and he watched as Aslan snaked out a hand and put in over the massive warrior’s shoulders. Melchior wished he could again feel such a thrill from a fight. But he had been doing this too long. He was deadened to it and he had shut down any feelings – either fear or triumph – too many years ago. Battle was efficient and impersonal to him now, an endless job that filled his nights. 

He nodded at both of them, smacking his closed fist over his chest with a roar. Both males dropped to their knees, bowed their head to their king and echoed his roar. Melchior nodded as they rose and stood before him.

“This is a major hit,” Melchior said. “And you know what it means. Retaliation. We have hit them where it hurts. It was great work, but we need to prepare for Niyan to fight back.”

Blane grinned, working still to get control.

Aslan’s thick arm thumped down on his back, half knocking some sense into him.

“I am thinking of taking a flip to blow off some steam,” he said. “You guys gonna pull in?”

Blane nodded.

Melchior shook his head. His thoughts raced to another job he had to handle tonight, and a flare of anticipation sparked in his veins.

“Nah,” Aslan shot Blane a grin. “Our lord has a situation on his hands he needs to handle. A small riot. Nothing he can’t suppress.”

He chortled as Melchior felt his blood rise. He knew his brother was needling him, but he was so volatile right now that he felt as if anything would push him over the edge. He was battling enough to keep his head in the game, when all he wanted to think about was his fingers buried deep in hot, slick flesh as Beth arched back against him.

“Right then,” Aslan said. “We’ll just clean up here and meet you. Beep if you have any trouble with the.. erm…rebellion.”

With a flash both of the brothers changed form and sped down the dark tunnel to handle any survivors of the blast.

Beth slammed the phone in the empty reception hall down and stalked back to her room.

“Give it up Beth.”

Those were the words of advice from her mentor and, hell, her only real friend. Well screw you Jackson, she thought as she pulled the door of her room open. Sure, she had heard the concern in his voice. She had been hearing that for the last few months, if she was honest with herself. But the clip she had sent him was important, dammit. She knew it. And for him to just brush her off like she was a rookie chasing a blind lead.

Tears of frustration sprang into her eyes, shocking her as much as the slam of the door behind her.  God she must be overwrought from lack of sleep. Not to mention an assault in the forest.

She had been trying to get his face out of her head for the past hour, during the long run back to the hotel and the quick bite she had grabbed at the restaurant down the drag. But it was a losing battle. The green eyes and scarred face were flooding her senses. She could smell the tree in front of her, and the feel of the man behind her as he had whispered in her ear.

“Not until I say so.”

Beth closed her eyes for a second and pulled the air slowly into her lungs. Melchior. She knew him in her dreams. The dark taste of a man’s lips in the dark forest, his hand between her legs as she arched back against him. Melchior rising above her in the dark of a room. She was slick with need for him. Begging him to take her again and again.

With a gasp she opened her eyes. What was wrong with her? Jesus anything could have happened up there alone in the forest with him. It almost had. But she knew it had not been one-sided. He had wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

She walked over to the bathroom and pulled the door open and stepped into the running shower. Slowly she lifted her eyes to the mirror, dreading what she was going to see. She knew she had been under stress but she didn’t realize how much weight she had dropped in the last few months. No sleep would do that to you. She could see the deep shadow of her cheekbones now cut her cheeks like two slashes. Beth knew men found her beautiful and not even the short crop and scowl she wore seemed to keep them away. She was tired even of trying.

She climbed out of the shower and pulled one some silk panties and a thin hotel-issue toweling robe she found behind the door. Then she stepped into the room. A hand clamped down over her mouth and a white light blinded her. Behind it she saw a pair of fierce green eyes and a scarred face. He had found her.

“Sleep,” he said. And her lights went out.

Beth was tied in the cave of fathomless despair, her arms locked in heavy chains and her legs wrapped in the coldest locks. He moved towards her through the space, a tiny dark creature shrouded in a hood. She knew he was evil, the rank smell of it washes off him in waves.

His black eyes raked her flesh. Beth shrank back against the cold stone, trying to crawl inside herself, save herself from the waves of putrid hate coming towards her.

She knew just a single touch would contaminate her, poison her forever. He was evil. Disease.

Dreamwalker. He said, moving above her.

Flesh of my flesh. You are mine. The last one.

You will bring him to me.

Nooooooo, Beth sobbed as he looked at her.