Nothing more. Two words. No signature. No explanation. Not so much as an “I love you.” Just a short note informing Karen that Eva’s husband was dead. Oh, God. How? How did he die? Was Eva hurt, or in some sort of danger? Eva. Poor Eva. Why hadn’t she called instead of sending a telegram.
“Everything okay, miss?”
The hotel employee’s voice drew Karen out of her inner turmoil. “No.” Her hand raked through her hair. “I mean, yes. I, ah, I need to get to the airport.”
The man, near sixty judging from the solid gray hair and deep wrinkles in his forehead, offered her a concerned look. “I can have a shuttle ready in fifteen minutes.”
She couldn’t think. “I…never mind.” Booking an international flight needed to be her priority. “I’ll call downstairs after I talk to the airlines.”
Karen processed for all of a minute before darting toward the phone. She dialed the operator and gave her Eva’s number. Ten rings later, she heard the operator’s voice again, telling her that no one was picking up.
“I need the police department in Brownsville, Texas,” she told the woman.
Ten minutes later, Karen hung up, with the news that Mike had been involved in a car accident. The same way their parents had died. God, what Eva must be going through.
Karen had to get home, and she had to get there now.
Only hours after deciding to visit Salvador, Jag arrived at his creator’s home. Deep inside the valleys of Mexico’s Sierra Madre ranges, this was where Jag had first trained with Salvador.
Jag pushed open a steel gate covered in jasmine and stepped into a courtyard filled with flowers and trees. He felt none of the peace most would feel here. He preferred the ranch, preferred his place by his men’s sides. But Salvador limited his exposure to the Knight, his existence cloaked in mystery, even to Jag.
Here, deep in these mountains, the Darkland Beasts had destroyed his world. This was the place the beasts had taken homage and fueled the evil of their dark world. And it was here where Jag had first hunted his prey.
Here he had first trained to be the destroyer of the Darkland Beasts. Where he had gotten so lost in vengeance, Salvador had been forced to pull him back to reality. Forced him to see the colors of the world around him, beyond the red of burning anger, the black of painful darkness.
It had been many years since he last visited this place, but he came today in hopes of finding answers. To understand the meaning of his dreams. Yet coming here held repercussions as always. Images of the past danced within his mind, taunting him with memories of destruction. With the reality of his wife’s blood-drained body. And of her pale, lifeless face.
Jag hated this place. Hell, he hated…life.
Staying so close to this place came from necessity. Otherwise, he’d be on the other end of the continent. The small border town of Brownsville remained a haven for the Darklands, and he had become its protector.
A wooden atrium covered in greenery stood before Jag, and he could see Salvador in the center. His mentor stood there, dressed in loose-fitting gray pants and a shirt, hands on his legs, eyes shut. Clothes worn for meditation. And though Salvador seemed unaware of Jag’s approach, it was a mere illusion. Salvador knew Jag was here. Salvador always knew. Exactly why Jag rarely sought out Salvador for guidance. Salvador saw beneath his exterior, to the inner turmoil Jag hid from others. Facing Salvador meant facing far more than the mentor who’d trained him to face the Darklands. It meant facing himself.
And that, he didn’t want to do.
As Jag walked up the three wooden steps leading to the core of the structure, his nostrils flared, taking in the essence of sage and rosemary in the air. Incense and candles often donned the areas of Salvador’s presence. Salvador called them cleansing. Today, they burned in lanterns hanging from each corner of the building.
But nothing could make Jag clean, and he knew it. He suspected Salvador did, as well. He’d been tainted by battle and touched by death. No one could cleanse the blood from his soul.
The sultry scents lifted with a breeze and enhanced the memories already in the forefront of his mind. Forcing them aside, he studied the man before him, the one who had both saved and created him two centuries before.
Tall and lithe, with high cheekbones, a strong jaw and light brown skin, Salvador hadn’t aged, just as Jag had not. They were immortal, and for them, time had stood still. At least, in the physical form. But each day felt like a lifetime.
Drawing to a halt a few steps in front of Salvador, Jag watched as the other man opened his eyes. Eyes like emeralds, so intensely green they never failed to take Jag by surprise. For long moments, Salvador stared at Jag, taking him in as if he memorized every pore and line of Jag’s face.
“Your heart is heavy, my friend,” Salvador said in the soft yet commanding voice Jag had come to expect from him. Salvador motioned to a bench positioned along the atrium railing, and together they moved toward it. Jag didn’t want to sit, feeling anxious about what he had to discuss, but he did.
“What troubles you?” Salvador asked, once they were settled.
Jag wasn’t fooled by the directness of the question. This conversation would not be straightforward and easy. With Salvador, everything came in riddles and word games. Just one of many reasons Jag dreaded coming here. Frustration always came with these meetings. Worse, Jag got the feeling Salvador knew why he was here before he told him. Regardless, Salvador would make him work for the answers he sought.
The sooner he got this conversation over the better. “I’ve been having…dreams. The first since…” His words trailed off. They both knew since when. Since he’d become the leader of the Knights of White. He wanted to stand, but he forced himself to remain still. Telling Salvador, he’d dreamed of bloodlust didn’t exactly come easy. Avoiding detail for as long as possible, he did a verbal sidestep. “They mean something, these dreams. I just don’t know what.”
Seconds passed and Salvador didn’t respond. Finally he broke the silence, disappointment heavy in his voice. “You still do not accept your destiny. I’d hoped you would have by now.”
As expected, the riddles were already starting. Despite frustration, Jag kept his voice controlled, speaking through clenched teeth. “I hunt. I kill. My destiny is clear. I get that. What I don’t get is these dreams.”
“And you want me to explain them to you?”
“Yes,” Jag said. “Why else would I be here? I came here for answers.”
Salvador pushed to his feet and crossed to a corner where a hanging shelf held an array of knives and swords. The scrape of metal filled the air as Salvador withdrew a sword from its sheath and then moved to the center of the atrium. He faced Jag, his blade in front of his body, its steel glistening in the sunlight trickling through the crisscross of the cover overhead.
“You say you want answers, but I see only one thing inside you, Jag. I see a desire to fight.” Salvador spit the words out, goading him with their truth. “I have never denied you what you seek. So stand and fight.”
Jag narrowed his gaze on Salvador, the man who had not only fixed his bleeding body when the Darklands had destroyed it, but taught him to wage a war against them, as well. A man who could raise a hand and change a person’s fate, with the power of good behind him. A power he refused to explain to Jag, and that did nothing but piss him off. How did he know Salvador was good and not evil? Okay, he knew. What he didn’t know was if he, himself, could ever be anything but dark.
Sometimes, he wished Salvador would have just killed him instead. That he had allowed him to live made Jag angry. Furious even. He pushed to his feet, feeling the thought like hot flames licking at his body. Without hesitation, Jag turned to the weapons rack, found a sword, then turned to face Salvador.
If Salvador wanted to fight, they’d fight. Fighting was all he knew. It’s how he dealt with everything in his life. He fought. He killed. He slept. He woke up and did it again.
He hadn’t asked to be the leader of the Knights
. He hadn’t asked for any of this.
Jag bent at the knees, one hand in the air, sword in ready position, matching the stance Salvador already held. Then, Jag touched his blade to Salvador’s, the action announcing his readiness to press this challenge onward.
Silence fell between them as seconds passed, their gazes matching in a mental war of sorts. Without warning, Salvador moved, scraping his blade along Jag’s in an aggressive action that demanded response. Jag double-stepped and blocked the move, returning it with a swipe of his weapon, but something made him hesitate to go fully on the attack.
Blade to blade, Salvador and Jag held them steady, moving in a circle, again in a mental war. “What are you waiting for?” Salvador prodded. “I offer you what you seek. I give you a battle to fight.”
“I do not seek a battle. I seek answers.”
Salvador made a disgusted sound. “You aren’t ready for answers.”
“Why must everything be a word game with you?” Jag demanded. “Why?”
“This is no game, I assure you,” Salvador replied, his sword hitting Jag’s.
The clang of metal against metal filled the air for several minutes, but it didn’t provide an outlet for Jag’s frustration. With his chest rising and falling, his breath heavy, not from activity but emotion, Jag finally understood what was happening. Salvador simply played with him. The man was an expert swordsman who taunted and teased Jag with well-conducted maneuvers, just as he had his words.
“Enough,” Jag said, taking a step backward, and dropping his weapon from ready position. “I’m done.”
Salvador followed suit, lowering his weapon. Jag bowed his head, inhaling, feeling defeated with no place to put all the emotions and confusion rolling within him. Jag wanted to stay angry with Salvador. Wanted to blame him for this life he led. But deep down, he knew Salvador hadn’t created this hell he lived. No. Salvador had simply given him a way to fight back against those who had.
“The war you fight is necessary,” Salvador said, all challenge gone from his voice. Now it soothed, like a soft, musical instrument. “The skills to win that war are gifts. Until you see who and what you are, you will never be as strong as your enemies.”
Jag shook his head at Salvador. “Why can’t you simply say what you mean?”
Salvador rid himself of his weapon before returning to Jag’s side. “You say you came here for answers, but you already have them. They are inside you, ready to be found.”
This was crazy. Why had he bothered to come here? A flash of anger ripped through him. Jag wanted to raise his weapon and fight again. To force Salvador to tell him what these dreams meant. Every instinct he owned told him trouble was coming. Something beyond anything he’d ever known. He needed Salvador to give him answers.
“In other words,” Jag said through clenched teeth, “you won’t help me.”
Salvador seemed unaffected by the contempt and accusation in Jag’s tone. “Not won’t,” Salvador said. “Can’t.” Silence fell, implication in the air. “You must find your way down this path on your own. Trust your instincts. If they tell you these dreams mean something, then they do.”
Jag’s grip on the sword’s handle tightened. It had been difficult to come here and it had been for nothing. Absolutely nothing. “That’s it? Nothing more?”
Salvador extended his hand and motioned toward the weapon Jag held, as if he knew Jag itched to raise it in battle. He stared at Salvador’s hand and slowly handed over his sword.
And just like that, in a flash of movement, Salvador acted. With a step backward, the blade sliced through the air and stopped at Jag’s throat, a hair from cutting through his skin.
Jag’s breath lodged in his throat, shocked at the aggressive action of this man he trusted so completely. Somehow, he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
“I could take your head,” Salvador said. “I could kill you with one flick of my wrist.”
Calmer now, air trickled past his lips, rational thought returning. “But you won’t,” Jag said quietly, half wishing it weren’t true. Whatever agenda Salvador had, killing him was not it.
“You’re sure?” Salvador inquired in a low voice laced with a hint of threat.
For an instant, just one, Jag doubted Salvador, his mind going to his dream. Of how he’d drank of the woman and enjoyed the liquid sweet flavor of her blood. Perhaps, he was turning into a true beast and Salvador had to kill him…He considered this, and reached deep for Salvador’s intentions.
“You won’t kill me,” Jag said.
“You’re certain?” Salvador questioned. The blade touched Jag’s skin and pricked it. A trickle of blood oozed down his neck. “Do you still believe I won’t kill you?”
“Not today.”
“You know this?”
Even the cold steel at his neck didn’t change his answer. “I know.”
Still, Salvador persisted. “How?” he demanded, his voice raised. Harsh.
Jag was getting pissed all over again. He just wanted answers, not these crazy head games. “I just know!” he shouted back. “What do you want of me Salvador? What?”
One second. Two. Salvador lowered the blade. Then, his voice free of all harshness, he said, “I want you to trust your instincts. You knew I wouldn’t kill you. Look beyond the surface and find the truth.”
Jag understood what Salvador was trying to tell him, but it wasn’t an easy thing to do. “The dreams—”
“You think they hold a warning.”
Jag gave a short nod.
“They do,” Salvador confirmed, offering nothing more.
“And the woman?”
“She is important. Keep her close.”
Jag’s heart kicked into double-time as he realized the implication of Salvador’s words. The woman was real. “Who is she?”
Salvador waved a hand with finality. “In time, you will understand. This is a journey you have started and must finish on your own.” He turned and started down the stairs, ending the conversation. Jag didn’t call after him. There was no point. Salvador had spoken and would say no more. He knew this from the past.
Jag was on his own, no closer to answers. And no closer to understanding why a seductress born of his dreams now haunted his waking hours, as well.
With a flash of light, Marisol, an immortal Healer who served under Salvador, appeared in the simple room of silver, gray and white, responding to Salvador’s mental call to her. With long, raven hair and dark eyes, she appeared human, but her gifts were those of an angel. In the fifty years she’d been assigned to Jaguar Ranch, it was the first time he’d done such a thing without warning.
Salvador wouldn’t have done so now if there wasn’t trouble.
Marisol found him sitting in the center of his meditation room, deeply focused; legs crossed, his body draped in a white robe. His eyes were shut, long black lashes resting on his perfect, light brown skin. He was a beautiful male in human form. The chosen warrior for humanity, he had walked this plane of existence for centuries, honored by the Archangel Raphael with this duty.
But she often wondered at the emptiness of the solitary existence he chose.
Salvador didn’t immediately acknowledge her, but then he rarely did anyone who visited. She’d come to understand this was simply his way. Yet, she also wondered at the reason. Wondered if he searched his visitors’ minds for their intentions and purity. No one fully understood the extent of his powers, just that they were many.
These thoughts made her uncomfortable, as she considered what he might find if he searched her mind. Would he figure out she’d gotten personally attached to one of the Knights of White? Or did he already know? Had he called her here because of this?
She stood there, waiting. She scanned the room, eyeing the darkness falling outside, the sun sinking between the mountaintops. Salvador lived in a secluded house with nothing but nature around him. He allowed himself no luxuries. No company between the visitors he mentored. The Healers in training. The Knights he created wit
h a magical touch.
Her skin tingled with awareness the instant Salvador fixed her in a stare, his green eyes taking her in from head-to-toe. No matter how many times she visited him, his attention still undid her. There was something so pure, yet so sensual about the man. And knowing. He knew things others didn’t.
Did he know the young Knight named Rock had her feeling emotions that were forbidden? Her stomach knotted. To be granted human form meant proving one was above the temptations of the flesh. It had taken Marisol centuries to obtain her spot to serve on the physical plane, and she had thought herself ready. She had trained, studied, meditated. But none of it had prepared her for what it was like to touch, taste and smell again. For the pure divinity of life. But she’d shoved temptations aside, no matter how difficult. All, except for this crazy need to protect Rock.
She fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the next, trying to wipe her mind clean. Salvador was too intuitive. These thoughts would give her away.
“You are looking good, Marisol,” Salvador commented, finally breaking the silence. He motioned her forward. “Your assignment seems to suit you.”
Marisol felt her cheeks flush as she settled down on the floor. She loved her faded jeans and scuffed boots but wondered if Salvador approved. There hadn’t been time to change before coming here. “Thank you. I enjoy helping the Knights.”
“Good,” he said, “because I need your help in a sensitive matter.”
She swallowed, an alarm going off in her head. She’d been right to assume there was trouble brewing. “I’m listening.”
“Jag is being tested.”
“By you?”
“I do not test any of my people. I simply guide.”
She knew what that meant. “Evil is at work?”
“Evil is always at work, my dear. You know this. Sometimes it simply screams louder for notice.”
“And now is one of those times,” she confirmed.
“Now it shouts for attention and we shall give it what it wants.” He smiled. “But make no mistake, little Marisol. We will win.”