PROLOGUE (Part 1) > Go to Part 2 FIRST TIMELINE—THE FUTURE There weren’t many places a dead man could go if he hoped to survive; at least that’s how Marco had always regarded the matter. Back on Refaria as a boy, in the midst of warfare and revolution, he’d learned that soldiers who embraced the afterlife had an uncanny way of finding it. Right now, he wished he could lock-in on some eternal, mystic wormhole that would shoot him straight out on the other side of his current hell.

He was literally in the middle of nowhere, hunkered down in the back corner of some dive on Highway 189, the perfect geographic location for him after everything tonight. He was nowhere; nameless; lost. He didn’t even know which bar he’d landed in, only that there were a half-dozen pool tables and a haze of cigarette smoke shrouding the place. And beer… racks and racks of beer, and Marco didn’t give a damn about his protector’s vows, not now, not tonight. He was going to get drunk and freefall into a painless state of oblivion if it was the last thing that he did.

His waitress returned, her low halter top revealing a small butterfly on her right breast, and slid yet another bottle of Heineken across the scuffed, wooden table toward him. He nodded mutely at the woman before staring down at his swarthy hands. He’d already lost count of how many bottles he’d tossed back since his arrival, and the cut on his forehead still hurt like hell, but that hardly mattered. Taking another heavy swig of beer, he felt the world around him grow even hazier—the dark bar was so cloaked in cigarette smoke, he could hardly tell if it was the effect of the alcohol on his system or just the cloud hanging over the place. His eyes burned, and for a moment he closed them, feeling the world swim woozily all about him.

Yes, let me forget, he thought. In All’s name, just let me forget tonight.

Throughout the barroom, rough wooden picnic tables were positioned, little more than graceless constructions of two-by-fours slapped together at haphazard angles—as if the working class regulars who populated the place required nothing more than basic stalls for their drinking pleasure. In fact, Marco had been lucky, managing to land one of the only real booths in the joint, and even then, the garish red leather beneath him was ripped and cracked, at least ten years past its prime.

Through the din of loud honky-tonk music, he could hear the phone at the bar ring, jarring him from his dazed state. The bartender—a burly guy with tattoos up and down each arm—grabbed it off the receiver. After listening a moment, he cupped his meaty palm over it. “Eh! Jordo!” he called out, “your old lady wants you home!”

Around the nearest table, a group of men erupted in bawdy laughter, slapping the guy who was obviously Jordo on the back while making crude comments.

Even he has someone who cares about him, Marco thought miserably, sinking down into the booth. But not me. Not that he’d ever had a woman of his own. No, he had always led a solitary existence when it came to matters of the heart. Still, people had cared for him, important people. But not now. He was utterly alone—without his Circle, without his king and queen, without his homeland. He was, quite simply, a protector without a protected. And maybe he did deserve to die as payment for his crimes. At least that would end the torment that had hounded him for the past year as he had secretly loved his best friend’s wife.

***

Marco leaned his head back heavily against the wooden booth, and glanced around the bar through slanted, half-opened eyes. Jordo and his pals were gone—most everyone was gone, as a matter of fact—he’d probably been here sopping up his sins with booze for at least three hours. He’d have to ride his Harley somewhere before the night was done, but where? He had no home anymore, not after tonight.

Alone, alone. The only way for someone so vile.

After a sluggish, dizzying moment, he raised his eyes at last and saw someone who looked vaguely familiar. A golden-haired angel stepping out of the haze and walking straight toward him. Why couldn’t he place the woman, moving so easily his way? And then, within a heart’s beat, she was standing just in front of him, smiling faintly. She was blonde, beautiful, and seductive as hell. But someone else’s lover, not his.

“Hi, Marco.” Her high-timbered voice was throaty, and she clasped his shoulder as if they were old friends. “We meet at last.” She trailed her fingertips down his arm familiarly, and a shower of electricity shot through his arm and chest. No way was she human.

He lolled his head forward again, narrowing his eyes. “Do I know you?”

“Well, let’s just say you know of me.” She slid uninvited into the booth beside him. “You’ve certainly seen me before, though not up close. Never like this.”

He inventoried her features: waving golden hair, blue eyes—lots of hair, he amended. Long and shimmering. Small frame…. “Thea,” he said finally, taking another sip of beer. “Thea Haven.”

She smiled in satisfaction. “You have been watching, haven’t you?” Her voice seemed to trill in victory.

“It was my job,” he answered dully, refusing to rise to his enemy’s bait.

What was Thea Haven after? And why was she suddenly here, tonight of all nights? It made no sense at all; His thoughts were clouded and dim from the alcohol—

that had to be it.

“Right,” she replied slowly, drawing the word out for effect. “Yes, I hear Jared really respects your hard work on his behalf.” Her voice was tinged with bitter irony.

He raised his eyes again and found her staring at him meaningfully—flame darting in her pale eyes. She knew. Somehow the woman knew everything that had happened tonight! Or maybe it was only his drunken mind playing tricks on him. Suddenly the dozen or so beers seemed like a really bad idea. He leaned his elbows forward on the table, burying his face in his hands for a moment. Anything to stop the torturous spinning of the bar around him.

“Why are you here?” He groaned quietly. “What do you want, Thea? Really?”

“Well, that’s simple enough,” she replied seductively. “I want you.”

Marco slowly lifted his head and met her eyes—and swore he heard her call his name somewhere within his mind; he couldn’t fight, not like this. Not tonight.

Jared’s enemies had planned their attack extremely well, and all he could do was surrender.

***

He lay back on the bed naked, the frayed hotel bedspread on the floor in a red tangle. Thea peeled off her underwear, sliding in after him. Her eyes took in the length of his body, the sinewy bulk of it and his solidly muscled torso. She had never seen a more beautiful man in all her days, not even her cousin, Jared Bennett. No, Marco possessed something even more alluring, perhaps because his beauty was of the reckless, dangerous variety. His dark skin was incredibly rich beneath her fingertips as she traced her hands across the silky black hairs that dusted his inner thighs, then between his legs. He shifted his hips in reaction, causing the cheap mattress springs beneath them to creak and groan.

His eyes were shut tightly, an expression of painful ecstasy dancing across his features. She began trailing kisses down his firm abdomen, lower… then even lower still, taking him into her mouth. He cried out, and she drew him in deeper, then eased him out again. He gasped her name, cupping her shoulders hungrily within his large hands.

Thea liked the feeling that she was pulling this Refarian soldier toward the brink, a man trained for every potentiality—except this one, apparently. A man sworn to resist all his king’s enemies, and for the briefest moment, she simply liked being with Marco McKinley period. But she quickly buried that thought. She couldn’t afford to feel anything for this man, and yet the emotions radiating off of him were so strong, so intense, it was hard to resist, especially since his gift of intuition left him wide open to her. If Thea chose to, she could feel everything happening within him. Maybe just for a moment, she thought breathlessly. What harm can one moment bring?

As she opened herself ever so slightly to him, she had a strong flash—and it was something she found nearly impossible to believe: This was Marco’s first time with a woman. Any woman. That was certainly something she could use to her advantage. She pulled away, gasping and he opened his nearly-black eyes. She could read the undisguised pleasure in his lazy gaze. Yes, she thought with a wicked smile, this plan is working to perfection.

She rubbed her thumb over the swollen tip of his erection. “You’re a virgin,” she breathed huskily, and tightened her grip.

His dark eyes flashed—with what she wasn’t sure. He almost seemed to panic for a moment, then just as quickly the emotion passed, replaced with something much harder. Colder.

“Who would I have ever made love to, Thea?” he asked wearily, letting his hands drop away from her shoulders. His face became guarded, and she couldn’t read his expression.

He was pulling away from her—and that simply would not do.

She climbed on top of him, straddling his waist as she drew her face within a breath of his own. “A beautiful man like you could have his pick. Any woman would thrill to pleasure Marco McKinley, sovereign protector.”

At those words, he closed his eyes tightly shut again. “No,” he groaned, “they would not.”

“You’re stunning.” She pressed her lips against his ear, even as she squeezed her thighs around him and felt the sensation of her toes against the hairless place behind his knees. “Anyone would be a fool not to love a man such as you.”

Oh, Marco, she thought, I could love a man such as you. Quickly, she pushed that thought from her mind. Never! She had a mission here, nothing more. Don’t buy into your own words, Haven.

Slipping one hand between his legs, she trailed her fingertips over his hardened length, teasing him. Seducing him. Controlling him. A virgin who’d never lain with a woman in his life? Well, this had certainly played to her advantage!

She’d seen the look of pleasure flare in his eyes when she’d called him beautiful. Good. Then that same quiet voice whispered in her mind again. He is beautiful…

unbelievably beautiful. He’d taken her breath away when she’d first seen him tonight, his black hair windblown from the motorcycle, and his smoldering good looks perfectly offset by his black leather jacket and faded blue jeans. She’d been keeping him under surveillance from afar for months, but tonight had been her first really good look at him. For a fleeting moment, she’d found herself disconcerted by his dark Refarian features: the rich, black eyes; the olive skin brushed with a touch of gold; the formidable size of his body. And then she realized why his appearance unsettled her so badly—Marco reminded her of someone else, someone she had strong feelings for.

> Go to Part 2