A Warrior s Desire - By Pamela Palmer Page 0,22

through his head as his gaze roamed her face.

The need to protect her rose fiercely inside him.

But as his gaze fell to her mouth, she dipped her face and pulled away.

"We need to keep moving, Charlie, in case he decides to follow."

With a sigh, he let her go, knowing she was right even as longed to kiss her all over again.

Never had he had a kiss affect him like that last one had.

He could still feel the softness of those lips as sweet as wine, could still feel the brand of her body pressed against his, unresisting.

The press of her mouth against his had been artless... innocent.

Every instinct told him she'd never been kissed.

How was it possible she was an innocent? They fell into step side by side.

"I hate the Esri," Tarrys said, her words low and pained.

Any doubt that she'd known the same kind of abuse he'd just witnessed, disappeared.

The certainty felt like a kick in the gut.

"You've had masters like that, haven't you?" Her mouth twisted unhappily as she glanced at him with shadowed eyes.

"I had Baleris."

Her simple words chilled him.

With a sudden clarity, he understood what she'd risked by coming with him.

As he stared at her delicate profile, her sheer courage humbled him.

"You shouldn't have come.

You should have stayed in D.

C.

where you were safe."

Tarrys shrugged.

"If you fail, I won't be safe anywhere."

He nodded slowly.

She'd said the words before, but he hadn't truly understood.

Now he did.

If the Esri took over the human realm, how long before she'd be caught and enslaved again? "Then we're not going to fail."

Slowly, so slowly, her mouth curved into one of her Mona Lisa smiles, her eyes shining with a strength and determination that matched his own.

"No.

We're not."

He grinned.

With a team like this, how could they possibly lose? But even as the thought went through his head, exhaustion began to pull at him, the unnatural exhaustion of illness.

And he wondered if they really stood a chance at all.

Two days later, they followed the stream out of the foothills and into the mountains.

Charlie ran his hand through hair - hair damp with perspiration, though their pace wasn't one that should be making him break a sweat.

As much as he tried to deny it, whatever bug he'd been fighting was starting to get the better of him.

Each day he'd had to stop more and more frequently and sleep for hours longer than normal.

And the thirst was becoming a nearly intolerable and constant companion.

He was still functioning, still moving.

But he had to wonder how long until he could no longer do either.

The ever-present breeze stirred the hem of his cloak and rifled cooling fingers through his hair.

As they walked, the terrain became increasingly steep, yet the nearby stream rushed no more quickly than it had on flat ground.

Gravity appeared to play no part in it.

A movement near the water caught his attention and he watched a fish the size of a small catfish waddle out of the water to nibble on the tall purple grasses that grew along the banks.

Large red-and- black butterflies floated on the water.

Charlie's gaze kept moving as it had since he first arrived, cataloguing his environment, looking for danger.

Watching for Esri.

And watching Tarrys.

As much as he tried to ignore her, his gaze kept returning to the woman at his side.

As she walked, her fingers toyed with the soft locks that must have grown an inch since that afternoon three days ago when he'd watched her shoot the bow on her apartment building roof.

The magic of this place, he supposed.

Now her rich, dark hair was long enough to lie soft against her head and tickle the tips of her ears in a sleek, pleasing cap.

His admiring gaze shifted to the play of light on her delicate features.

How had he gone months without noticing how pretty she was? Delicate and ethereal.

Like a ballerina.

She even walked like a dancer, every movement filled with grace and certainty despite the sacklike gown she wore.

But it was that incredible mouth of hers that kept calling to him and to the hunger deep within him.

"Does your hair always grow this fast?" Tarrys glanced at him from beneath long lashes and dropped her hand to brush at her slave's gown.

"I don't know.

I haven't had hair since I was a child."

Simple words filled with a sadness he couldn't begin to fathom.

When she'd first joined them, he'd assumed Marceils were naturally bald.

That's the only way he'd ever seen her.

"Did Baleris make you chop your hair?" Her fingers were back to playing with