Warrior of Fate Read online

  Her heart cartwheeled in her chest, and all logical thought evaporated from her brain as he bent toward her. If any ordinary man had made such an outrageous declaration, she would have served him his own liver for lunch. But Adrian Gray was no ordinary man.

  His breath swept across her lips. Her insides melted, her knees quivering. He never took his gaze from hers, his dark, dark eyes holding so many secrets, but so many promises, too.

  She wanted him to keep those promises. Every sinful one.

  His phone beeped. He closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them again. “Another time, princess.”

  He dropped his hand and was gone, leaving her shaking.

  Damn him. Her face heated, and she closed her eyes. Why, oh why, did her body betray her every time Adrian Gray was anywhere near her?

  What was wrong with her? She knew that she couldn’t trust anyone she couldn’t read, especially men. Hadn’t she learned her lesson all those years ago, with Luke?

  She opened her eyes and sucked in a long, trembling breath. This had to stop. Luke’s betrayal had been bad enough, and yes, she had been young and naïve back then. But now, with this war going on, the stakes literally were life and death. She couldn’t afford to trust the wrong person, especially someone who made her good sense evaporate like water on hot coals. She should be stronger now, more savvy about secrets and hidden allegiances. She should be vigilant about possible betrayals. She should have learned her lesson.

  Her family’s lives depended on it.

  She headed back to the dining room, fists clenched and spine straight. Something was wrong with Adrian, and he was just using her attraction to him to throw her off balance. And had succeeded, she acknowledged.

  For now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  From inside the chopper, Adrian watched the colors and shapes of the desert flash by beneath him, a chaotic blur that echoed what he felt inside. He was different after that trip to Belize. Cheating death did that to a man.

  He touched his abdomen, the scar still tender beneath his clothing. He’d been nearly dead when he’d staggered to the road and stopped a passing truck. A simple Whisper—a necessary evil that took too much energy—compelled the driver to transport him to a doctor without a lot of questions. After that, things got fuzzy, but once he’d been bandaged up and the bleeding stopped, his own healing power took over. Two days later he woke up fairly mended, but still low on energy. And all he’d been able to think about was getting home to Tessa.

  A couple of months ago, Maria Montana had told him he was Tessa’s destined mate. Despite knowing that Maria’s power was matchmaking, he’d not taken the pronouncement seriously at the time. Every Atlantean had heard the ancient stories of destined mates, but Adrian had never actually met any. He figured they were a fable, like Cupid and his arrows, that Maria just had an ability similar to empathy to see when people were attracted to each other. Then Rafe and Cara had used their mate link to channel power to defeat Jain Criten, and Darius and Faith had joined through theirs to rescue Faith from that cave-in. And Adrian started to wonder.

  Lying in his own blood on that battlefield in Belize, he’d thought only of Tessa. Pondered if she was the one, as Maria had said. When he’d returned this morning and seen Tessa face-to-face, he’d known.

  She was his. Whether it was nearly dying or just his own new belief, “his” was what his instincts screamed whenever he got near her. It was a chant in his head and a thunder in his heart and the wanton agony of need that burned through his blood. It was the tremble in his hands and the thrust of his cock and a primal, urgent demand to claim her.

  How he’d controlled it today was a miracle. It took every bit of discipline, every second of training, to hold back, to wait. The mission came first. Had to come first. Lives were at stake, and he had to keep his cool, to shove these emotions into a box until he could look at them more closely. But every time he laid eyes on her, he fought the beast again. Redefined his into something he could control.

  Luckily, he’d gotten that text just when he’d been about to kiss her.

  The soft ding of the message had rung like a gong in his head and given him the precious strength to deny himself a taste of that sexy mouth. Reminded him who he was. And what had to happen next.

  The chopper landed. Adrian hopped out and darted from beneath the whirring blades, closing off all emotion and steeling his mind to the logic of a Warrior. He’d expected this summons, and he jogged across the helipad, mentally preparing himself for the interrogation to come. His plan to get the stones back and reveal the truth to the Atlantean people wasn’t ready yet. Only when he worked out the details would he bring it to his superiors.

  The building he approached didn’t look all that imposing at first glance. Like many others in the Southwest, it was built of two stories of dusky sandstone that blended with the sepia shades of the desert around them. It could have been an office building or a school, except for its shape, round like a bullring rather than the more common square of the native architecture. From the parking lot or the helipad, one crossed a large open plaza to get to the impressive number of stairs that led to the double doors of the front entrance. A discreet sign proclaimed it the Gerlari Center for Wellness.

  Adrian knew it as the Temple of Mneseus, stronghold of the Warriors of Atlantis.

  He walked through the doors and nodded to the guard on duty before making his way into the bowels of the building. The closer he came to the sacred Hall of Judgment, the stiffer his spine became. He schooled his features to impassivity and pushed all thoughts of Tessa into the far corners of his mind.

  Show no emotion. Emotion is weakness. The lesson had been drilled into him since birth, and he called on that discipline now. He knew he’d be scrutinized, his value assessed. He intended to give the Council no fault to find.

  He pushed open the heavy wooden doors and strode the length of the long, dimly lit chamber. Twelve Warriors lined the walls, six on each side, the elite guard of the Council. At the end of the room, three older men sat on a dais in huge, carved wooden chairs, their expressions grim. Light shone down on them and on a spot on the polished wooden floor in the middle of the room.

  Adrian stepped into the spotlight. Silence reigned for a long moment.

  “Atlas Itzal,” one of the elders said.

  “I prefer Adrian Gray,” Adrian corrected.

  That earned three scowls.

  “Atlas Itzal,” the elder said again. “You have failed your mission.”

  “The mission was to prevent the Stones of Ekhia from falling into the hands of the Mendukati,” Adrian said. “I have done that. They have only two of the three stones. The Seers have the other.”

  “Only by chance,” a second elder said. “Jain Criten nearly obtained that one when he infiltrated the Montana compound two months ago.”

  “But he was stopped,” Adrian said. “The stone is safe with the Seers.”

  “It is not safe,” the third elder contradicted. That gravelly voice never failed to put Adrian on guard. “If the compound was breached once,” the elder continued, “it could be breached again.”

  “I’ve been assisting John Montana with upgrading security,” Adrian said. “The Mendukati will not find it so easy again.”

  “John Montana,” the first elder scoffed. “A human. What knows he of strategy? Of defense?”

  “He does well,” Adrian said.

  The third elder harrumphed. “You have too much confidence in that human, I think. But let us keep to the task at hand. You allowed the rebel Azotay to defeat you in battle and escape with one of the Stones of Ekhia. Bad enough the Mendukati already had one. Now they have two.”

  “But they need three in order to access the power.” Adrian had expected the censure, acknowledged the sting. “They won’t get the third.”

  “You cannot guarantee that,” the second elder said. “It is a fact that Criten and the Mendukati agents nearly stole it from the Seers once. And the Mendukati rebel Az
otay did steal a second stone from you, after defeating you in hand-to-hand combat. And when you attempted to retrieve it, you failed again.”

  “We are disappointed in you, Atlas,” the third elder said. “You showed such promise as a Warrior, as Leyala.”

  “I am still a Warrior. Still Leyala.”

  “That is for us to determine,” the first elder said.

  Adrian’s blood chilled. “I will retrieve the stones.”

  “No,” the first elder said.

  “Absolutely not,” said the second. “Azotay has already returned to Santutegi.”

  “We have no influence there,” the first elder added. “Not anymore. Our homeland is lost to us now, under the rule of Criten.”

  “You will stay here in the United States and be given one more chance,” the third elder said. “You have built a relationship with the Seers … and that is the only reason why we allow this course of action.”

  “The war escalates,” the first elder said. “To send another soldier, to begin anew in forming an alliance with the Seers, this would take time we do not have.”

  “But you cannot fail again,” the second elder said.

  “Therefore,” the third elder said, “we have assigned you a partner.”

  “I work alone,” Adrian said.

  “You used to work alone,” the third one corrected, his tone pure steel. “Now you work as a team.” He paused. “Or not at all.”

  “Insubordination will not be tolerated,” the first elder said.

  “Do you accept the will of this Council?” the third one demanded.

  Adrian bowed his head. “I do.”

  “Go,” the second one commanded. “Your colleague awaits you.”

  Without another word, Adrian turned on his heel and exited the chamber.

  A hole burned in his gut. A partner? Babysitter more likely. His strides grew longer as he stalked down the deserted hallway, his fists clenched at his sides. He was a member of the Leyala, one of those who judged and punished Warriors who broke their laws. Now, to be assigned a partner, as if he were some trainee who didn’t have the sense to take shelter in the rain—it ate at him. He knew he’d screwed up. He’d known he’d be called upon to answer for losing the stone to Azotay. For losing the battle to him. For letting him escape—twice. And so he should be. But he’d expected punishment, maybe the standard week’s imprisonment for failure.

  Not to be treated like a weak-kneed rookie.

  A door to his right opened. He glanced up, saw the red robes, the familiar face with the scar along one cheek. He clenched his teeth and kept walking, even as that deep, rough voice followed him.

  “Atlas.” The third elder fell into stride with him.

  He kept walking.

  “Atlas.” Again he said nothing. The elder grabbed his arm, jerked him to a stop. “Damn it. Adrian, then. I want to talk to you.”

  He pulled his arm free. “Haven’t you said enough, Father?”

  His father, Ezares Itzal, scowled. “Don’t blame me for this turn of events, At—Adrian. I did what I could to shield you. Would you rather be imprisoned?”

  “It would be less humiliating than what was decided.”

  “Ah.” His father nodded. “So your emotions drive you, do they?”

  “Even you would be emotional about this.”

  “You failed, my son. The enemy now holds two of the Stones of Ekhia. You had a stone in your hands. You had Azotay in your hands, too. You let both slip away. You should have killed him when you had the chance.”

  Adrian fixed his father with a hard stare. “Do you know who Azotay is, Father? His true identity?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes? So you know Azotay is Gadeiros. My brother. My twin. And you would still have me kill him? Pit one son against another?”

  “Emotion has no place in this.”

  “It certainly has no place in you.” Adrian started walking again.

  Ezares kept pace. “This is why the Council assigned you a partner. These rash outbursts. You need to get your focus back, Atlas. Remember your training.”

  “Fuck my training.” Adrian whirled on his father. “Where has it gotten me? Where has it gotten you? There’s more to life than training, Father.”

  “How dare you.” His father drew himself up. They were even in height, and despite their difference in age, similar in the breadth of their shoulders and chests. “Where has it gotten me? I’m an Elder of the Temple of Mneseus, respected and feared. Where has it gotten you? Accepted into the Leyala. Unlike your brother.”

  “We took the test when we were ten. If we took it now, he might have passed and I might have failed. Then what? Would you have shed yourself of me as easily as you have of him?”

  “I do what is necessary.”

  Adrian spun on his heel and walked away.

  “Atlas! Come back here!”

  “I’m doing what is necessary,” he called back, and strode from the building into the plaza.

  The desert sun sizzled like his anger. He struggled to tamp it down as he headed for the helipad, knowing the rage was too hot, too uncontrolled. Now was not the time for impulsiveness; in that, he agreed with his father. But that was the only point of agreement they had.

  Ezares had known. He’d known Azotay—Criten’s hit man—was Gadeiros. Adrian hadn’t seen his brother in over twenty years, not since that desperate night when they were ten and his father had announced the entire Temple of Mneseus was leaving Santutegi. The government was corrupt, he’d said, and needed to be stopped. Criten’s father had been the ruler of Santutegi back then, as had his father before him. The ancestry of the Criten family stretched all the way back to Selak, the Channeler who had survived the cataclysm of Atlantis and gone on to become Santutegi’s first ruler, as well as the founder of the Mendukati.

  It was Selak who’d blamed the Seers for the destruction of their city. He, an eyewitness to the events that had resulted in the devastating catastrophe, had roused the people’s ire, riled the displaced citizens until they began hunting the Seers. To make the Seers pay. To destroy them.

  That dark night twenty years ago, Ezares had commanded his wife, Nilara, to bring his sons and join him in leaving with the departing temple. Nilara had refused to leave her home. Gadeiros, ever their mother’s favorite, declared he, too, was staying.

  Adrian had left with his father that night and had not seen Gadeiros again until a few days ago, in Belize.

  Ezares had known. Hadn’t cared that Adrian might have killed his own brother. In fact, he’d seemed disappointed that he hadn’t. And what did that say about the Itzal family? Adrian had been raised by his father since he was ten. Molded in the ways of the Warriors, perhaps even groomed to one day be his father’s successor on the Council of Elders. He’d never had a choice—or a chance. His destiny had always been preplanned. Become Leyala, distinguish himself, win the admiration of his people and do his family name proud. Or, rather, make his father proud.

  But now he had to ask himself: was that really what he wanted?

  He’d had the opportunity over the past couple of months to see how a real family functioned. The Montanas weren’t perfect, but he couldn’t see John Montana ever advocating one son kill another.

  “Yo, A.”

  The woman’s voice had him stopping as he stepped toward the helipad. How had he been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed the curvy brunette leaning against the wall of the building? “Larina, what are you doing here?”

  She came forward. Most women might look masculine in camo pants and a black sleeveless tank top and a tattoo over their left breasts, but she was a Warrior, and it suited her in a way that somehow looked sexy and badass at the same time. As per her training, no emotion showed in her brown eyes, but he’d known her his entire life. They’d been friends and, on and off, lovers. He knew how her mind worked.

  “You saw the Council?” she said.

  “Yes. Oh, I see.” His lip curled. “You’re my new partner.�
�

  “I am. Can’t say I’m sorry about it, either. This war is escalating, and we all want a part in it.” She met his gaze straight on. “You screwed up, A. Be glad you’re still in the game.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad.” He started for the chopper.

  “Where are we going?” She jogged beside him, a black backpack slung over her shoulder.

  He paused before stepping onto the helipad. “I’m going back to Sedona. The Council’s summons pulled me out of a meeting with the Montanas.”

  “Good.” She headed for the chopper. “I’m looking forward to meeting them.”

  He hesitated a moment before following, part irritated and part admiring. She’d planned this well, ambushing him while he’d been distracted by the Council’s edicts. And the backpack indicated she’d been prepared—just like a Warrior should be. He reached the chopper and opened the door. On the other side, Larina climbed into the bird, stowing her bag under the seat and picking up the communications headset. Without a word, Adrian did the same.

  Apparently he had been imprisoned, after all.

  * * *

  “So what’s the deal with Gray?” Darius asked Tessa.

  They were sitting on a wrought iron bench on the front porch of the house, waiting for the ambulance transporting Rigo Mendez from the hospital. Tessa had been expecting the question ever since she had followed Adrian from the meeting earlier that morning. She was surprised Darius had been able to hold back this long before starting the third degree. But then, this was the brother known for patience.

  “I don’t know what the deal is,” she said.

  “You don’t know?” Darius raised his brows. “You went after him and even fibbed to the family with the old headache excuse. What happened when you caught up to him? Didn’t you ask him?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Dar, what happens when you ask that guy anything? He either ignores the question or distracts you with something else.”

  “And just what did he distract you with, baby sister?”