Hour of the Dragon - Heather Killough-Walden Page 0,63

guys. He wasn’t acting like one, after all.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was tangle with a group of them, especially with his own clan a few blocks away. Strike that, the last thing he wanted to do right now was tangle with Cain. But Texas wardens came in at a close second. And Cain would be directly and immediately involved anyway if another clan of wardens attacked Ares.

What he did want to do was go somewhere safe and private with Annaleia.

And get some answers.

So as she backed up a little further, rather than follow her deeper into the alley, Antares straightened and took a deep breath. Then another. Gradually, the dragon in him receded, and he felt his fangs slide back into his gums.

“Why won’t you remember me, Leia? Why don’t you recognize me?”

Leia stopped again, and the furrowed brow was back. She blinked.

“She can’t recognize you, dragon.”

Antares spun, fangs instantly extended and eyes glowing like supernovas. But he recognized the feel of the interloper before the man even stepped into the light. It was an absence of feeling, of magic and energy, a void so strong it could only be a shield protecting something powerful. It was the same shield he’d come up against back at the restaurant where Annaleia had dined with another man.

That same man came forward, still dressed impeccably in his three-piece suit and leather-soled shoes, still as tall and dashing as ever, and still absolutely uninvited.

“You –” Ares seethed, but the man cut him off.

“The name is Sterling,” the man introduced himself with the air of someone entirely at ease despite the danger of the situation.

Antares’ red-hot mind placed the name at once. Now everything made sense. Annaleia’s disappearance, his inability to locate her, even the fact that she didn’t recognize him now. “Jarrod Sterling,” Ares hissed, the interloper’s identity only spurring his already simmering fury into a full-blown blaze. “The elusive bastard they call the ‘Nightmare Warlock.’”

Jarrod Sterling the Nightmare Warlock smiled and came further into the light. He imitated a bow. “In the flesh.”

Chapter Nineteen – Alley. Texas. You know the drill.

Anna could not have described the mix of relief and baffling disappointment she felt at Sterling’s appearance. It definitely made her feel safer, there was that. She knew that if he was there, she would at least not have to call Magnus because Sterling was sure to keep her relatively safe. He was very powerful.

Her sentinel would not have been able to answer her call to help unless she were mortally wounded or falling to her death or something of that nature anyway. After a warden’s initial meeting with their sentinel, the rules were much more strict. A sentinel’s assistance from then on required imminent demise. Life or death. With Sterling present, she probably wouldn’t be facing death any time soon.

But the sentinel thing was the only thing Annaleia knew for certain just then. She had so many questions and was so confused, she could barely make sense of her thoughts or emotions any longer.

Anna’s assailant turned nearly all of his focus on Sterling, and she took the chance to pull the edges of her jacket closed over her torn shirt. Sterling’s appearance would have afforded her new openings for escape except that her attacker had yet to un-block the exit of the alley. It also didn’t help that she found herself almost completely enthralled by what was transpiring between the two men.

“You did this to her,” her attacker accused. Now that he had turned so that he was in profile and facing the streetlight, Anna was afforded a good, thorough look at him.

Crap... he’s actually beautiful.

It was an absurd thought. But in all fairness, it was true. She would have had to possess wits as sharp as wooden spoons to fail to notice. There was a magnetic allure to the whole of him that made his beauty wild and surreal. Her gaze trailed over his features; he was towering, broad-shouldered, and narrow-waisted. Shining blue-black hair touched the collar of his black leather jacket, his profile revealed a strong chin and cheekbones, and when he turned just a little in the low light, his eyes swirled with some kind of cosmic darkness that shimmered with stars…. And he had fangs.

She swallowed hard when she saw those again. Even if they were admittedly attractive on him in a stark, twisted way, they were still teeth and they were sharp teeth, and she was a warden. She knew damn well