In Darkness Reborn

His kiss gentled, exploring her mouth leisurely, content to let the heat build at its own pace. Lacey teased his tongue with her own, smiling when he groaned with deep pleasure. She wanted him to take her right then, right there on the lab counter. It was crazy and risky, and she didn't care. But when she reached for the buttons on his shirt, he stilled her hands.

His breathing was ragged. “Lacey, we can't, not here.”

He was right, but that didn't make it easy to hear. But then he said, “But before we go any farther down this path, you have to make sure this is what you really want. I won't take a lover who is embarrassed to be seen with me in public or who only takes me to her bed when she's sure that no one will know.”

His words cut through to her heart, hurting her even though his intention was to protect them both. He was right. Kissing him in a fit of temper or even to offer comfort was one thing. Letting everyone in the organization—not to mention her brother and the rest of the Paladins—know that she'd invited their enemy into her bed would be a disaster.

He must have read her answer in her eyes because he stepped away, giving her one more measuring look as he left the lab, letting the door swing shut behind him. She'd done the right thing; she knew that for a fact.

But then why did it hurt so much?

I
would like to thank and acknowledge all of the writers and industry professionals I have met over the course of my career. Your generosity with your time, knowledge, and friendship has made this journey even more special. This business would be pretty lonely without all of you.

G
et that goddamned freak out of here!”

The injured Paladin could barely speak, but there was no mistaking the venom in his words. Ignoring the tirade, Barak quietly picked up a tray of sterile instruments and put it away. After arranging the equipment exactly the way Dr. Young preferred it, he walked past the man and deliberately made eye contact, taking a warrior's pride in knowing he wasn't the one who'd blinked first.

The patient had been conscious for just over an hour and had been cursing Barak the whole time. Paladins were never easy patients, but having one of their mortal enemies near made them worse. Barak hated the Paladins enough to take pleasure in seeing his enemy chained down while he walked free. Drawing a deep breath, he savored the sweet taste of the man's fury.

When he'd entered this world, he'd fully expected to die at the end of a Paladin's sword. That hadn't happened, leaving him alone in this confusing place. Since he could not defeat his enemy in combat, he would at least irritate them with his continued presence in their midst.

Dr. Laurel Young stood concentrating on the machines that monitored the Paladin's progress. Judging from the frown line between her eyebrows, she wasn't pleased.

Knowing the request that was coming, Barak started for the door.

The guards manning the lobby desk looked up, preventing him from slamming his fist against the wall. Any such action on his part would be reported to Dr. Neal, the local head of Research, who in turn would pass along the information to the Regents. For now, they tolerated Barak's continued existence, as long as he did not become too much of a problem. For Laurel's sake, he behaved most of the time.

It was for Dr. Young's sake that he had walked out of the lab; he owed her that much. Roiling with anger, he decided to work it off in the gym.

He pushed the elevator button, still marveling at the conveniences that humans took for granted. Their casual use of power appalled him at times. They had no idea how blessed they were. Or how wasteful.

When the elevator doors slid open, a pair of the building guards immediately moved to one side of the elevator, as if to make room for him. More likely they were avoiding any possible contact.

He forced a small smile, acknowledging their false courtesy. As they traveled in uncomfortable silence, he wondered if he was wrong to assume everyone had a hidden agenda. Maybe they had problems of their own and meant no slight. But until he better understood these humans and how their minds worked, he could only rely on his instincts, and it was safer to assume they were the enemy than to be stabbed in the back by a false friend.

Several seconds later, he escaped the close confines of the elevator. Pausing outside the locker room, he reached out with his senses to see if anyone was inside. The gods were with him; the whole place was empty. Inside, he stripped down and pulled on the shorts he kept in his assigned locker. After tying back his shoulder-length hair, he entered the gym.

He closed his eyes, searching for the silence deep within to let go of the day's frustrations. Moving slowly at first, he lost himself in the ha'kai, the “death dance” of his people. Through its familiar rhythms, he could almost imagine himself back home. The origin of the dance was lost in antiquity, but those who learned its graceful, lethal maneuvers kept the practice alive in his world. Here, in this land of too much light, it was an unknown art. There was so much confusion in this new life that he drew comfort from bringing this one little part of his world with him. His peace was short-lived as four Paladins came swaggering into the gym. They dropped their weapons cases on the tiled floor and drew their swords.

The closest one groused, “Hell, nobody told me that they let that gray-haired bastard roam free. Hey, Roy, I thought Seattle had a leash law.”

Raucous laughter rang out as the biggest one said, “Maybe we should call Animal Control and have them haul it off to the pound with all the other flea-bitten dogs.”

Barak finished a last twirl and lunge before acknowledging the intruders' presence. As he picked up a towel and wiped his face, he smiled, relishing the chance to teach them some respect for his kind.

“Better the dogs for company than two-legged cowards. Or do you consider four against one to be honorable?” he sneered.

Their response was immediate and predictable. The biggest one took a step toward Barak. “Listen here, asshole, I wouldn't go around calling other people cowards. The only reason you're still alive is that nitwit Dr. Young took pity and let you hide behind her skirts.”

That did it—they'd crossed the line by treating Laurel Young with disrespect. Before, he would have settled for running them in circles without doing any real damage. Now he would demand payment in pain and blood. And if word of their taunts got back to Devlin Bane, they'd be lucky if they lost but one life each.

He calmly crossed the room to the rack of swords used for practice. After rejecting several, he settled for the one that came closest to the feel of his own, which had been lost to him.

The biggest Paladin stood a few steps ahead of the others, no doubt planning on challenging Barak first.

Barak took a couple of practice swings with the sword before touching the blade to his forehead to signal his readiness to fight. Judging from his opponent's stance, the young fool depended on size rather than skill to win fights. That might work when it came to fists, but he would soon learn the error of his ways.

Barak held his sword at the ready and used his other hand to encourage his opponent to attack. “Shall we dance, Paladin? Have you any skill with that sword, or is it only for decoration?”

Roy's face flushed with anger. “I'm ready whenever you are.”

The other Paladins arranged themselves along the wall, calling out their encouragement. “That's it, Roy. Teach him to respect his betters!”

Just as Barak expected, the young Paladin lunged forward, using his weapon with graceless power. If his blow had actually connected, it might well have taken Barak's head off. Roy stumbled past, fighting to regain his balance. It didn't take much longer for Barak to have young Roy pinned against the wall, the point of his sword at the boy's throat. The flash of fear in Roy's eyes was sweet.

“What was that about teaching me respect for my betters?” Barak crowded closer. “I'm listening.”

When Roy didn't respond, Barak indulged his anger with a flick of his wrist, slashing a shallow but painful cut down the side of Roy's face. To give the boy credit, he stood his ground, ignoring both the pain and the blood dripping down his cheek.

Barak leaned in close, letting Roy see his full rage. His lips drew back, baring his teeth. “If I ever hear another disrespectful word out of your mouth regarding Dr. Young, I will take great pride in slicing you into tiny little pieces. Then I'll report you to Devlin Bane and Blake Trahern and let them finish the job. Do I make myself clear?”

Roy nodded very slowly. The two scariest Paladins in Seattle, Devlin and his friend Trahern were the stuff of legends. Maybe Roy and his friends hadn't yet heard that Dr. Young and Bane were mates, but it wasn't Barak's job to inform them. It was enough that he defended her honor.

“Get out of here.” He'd turned his back to the rest of the pack, saying without words that he considered them to be of no real threat. “And the next time you see me, I suggest you walk away. Better yet, run.”

Another voice entered into the conversation. “Is there a problem?”

“Nothing I can't handle.” Barak stepped away from Roy and picked up a towel to wipe the tip of his sword. “I was just teaching young Roy here that size doesn't always determine the winner.”

Devlin Bane made Roy look a bit on the small side. “Really? I've never found it to be a handicap.” He sauntered over to the sword rack and picked one at random, then eyed Roy, obviously taking the younger man's measure. “Let's see, there are two of us and four of you. What do you think, Barak? Would it be unfair odds?”

Barak considered the matter. “Maybe if we promised to use only our weaker hands.”

Devlin's grin was pure danger as he switched the sword to his off hand. “I like it.”

Barak did the same and moved to stand next to his mortal enemy. “We shouldn't hurt them too badly, though. I don't feel like mopping blood up off the floor.”

“Fair enough.” Devlin turned to Roy's companions, who looked as if they were about to make a dash for the door. “Come on, gentlemen, pick up your weapons. I've got just enough time to show you how it's done in the real world.”

Barak watched their exhausted opponents stumble out of the gym, glad to escape with only their pride bruised. Bane hadn't asked what had caused the initial confrontation, probably assuming Barak's presence alone had been enough to trigger a Paladin's inborn need to fight. Barak didn't tell him any different.

“Were you looking for me?” Barak kept his voice neutral and his eyes focused on his sword.

“Laurel said you were probably up here.” Bane returned his borrowed weapon to the rack with more force than was necessary. Clearly his temper still simmered just shy of a full boil.

“She shouldn't send you to check on me.” Though it was just like her to do so.

“She worries.”

“And you hate that.” As a physician and Handler, Laurel Young took a deep personal interest in all her charges, even one who was her lover's lifelong enemy.

Devlin Bane shrugged. “How I feel about it doesn't matter.”

Barak understood the Paladin's obvious frustration. People of his own world and the Paldins' world were born to hate each other. Unfortunately, Laurel Young didn't accept the normal way of things. Since Barak and Devlin both cared about her, they were forced to set that hatred aside and find some common ground. Sparring in the gym fit that need. If they couldn't kill each other for real, they could draw satisfaction from pretending to.

“Do you require further practice?” The skirmish with the younger Paladins had wheted Barak's own appetite for violence. Exchanging blows with Bane would help him burn out some of his own temper.

Devlin stood at the weapons rack, picking up swords at random and testing their weight in his hand. “Knives or swords?”

“Swords.”

And so the dance began.

In his past life, he and Devlin Bane had been mortal enemies, sworn to kill each other upon sight in the endless war that had been fought as long as memory served. In Barak's youth, he'd sworn the vows of hatred along with all of his generation. Over the years that had followed, their numbers had dwindled as death had claimed many and insanity even more.

When he'd gone looking for answers to the great madness, he'd found nothing but locked doors and accusations of cowardice. He'd argued long and hard that he didn't mind the idea of dying; he'd merely wanted to know the why of it all. Finally, he'd quit asking, quit fighting, quit everything.

Like so many from his world, he'd sought to end his pain with an honorable death at the end of a Paladin's sword. Instead, he'd found and saved a human woman who'd been pursued by one of her own kind, a man who had reeked of cowardice and greed. Laurel Young had offered Barak her healer's touch, then her friendship. To his amazement, even the strongest of the Paladins had been unwilling to refuse her the gift of Barak's life.

But that didn't mean they liked the idea.

With a powerful lunge, Devlin's sword came uncomfortably close to Barak's throat. Barak danced back out of the way and grinned at his opponent. “Is that the best you have to offer?”

“Go to hell.” Bane charged again, this time whacking Barak across the back with a blow that would leave bruises.

The pain faded quickly in the triumph of using one of his favorite ha'kai movements to drop Bane to the mat with a satisfying thud, followed by a string of curses after Bane could draw enough breath to speak. Barak offered him a hand up that was rudely ignored. He backed away, giving the Paladin a chance to rejoin the battle.

“You've got to quit,” Bane growled.

“Why should I, when I am winning?”

This time it was Barak who hit the floor. Even a practice blade looked sharp when held at his throat. “Not quit this. You've got to quit working with Laurel.”

As Bane backed away, Barak wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He was in no mood to be ordered around by a Paladin, not even one who had stood between Barak and certain death. He slowly climbed to his feet and brought his sword back up into fighting position.

“I won't quit just because you don't want me near your woman.” He backed up his vow with a flurry of thrusts that Bane met with a renewed attack of his own.

“I've never liked you being near her, you stupid bastard. That hasn't changed.”

“So what has?” Then a sick feeling settled deep inside him. If the newest members of the Paladins were talking about Laurel, perhaps others were as well.

He stepped back and dropped the point of his sword in surrender. At least Bane was breathing as hard as he was. When it came to fighting the best, a draw was nothing to be ashamed of.