Warrior Rising - By Pamela Palmer Page 0,9

frailties. Now half their team had death marks. All the Esri had to do was touch them and wish them dead and they would be.

Except him.

With a slam of understanding, he realized what had to happen. Someone had to watch and guard Princess Ilaria until the next full moon. Someone without a death mark.

Him.

Ah, hell.
Chapter 3

The sun was low on the horizon on a crystal-clear December day when Harrison and the two Sitheen recruits who'd accompanied him arrived at the hotel in Reykjavik, Iceland. The hotel, like the city, was the definition of old-world Nordic charm.

Harrison had barely lifted his hand to rap on Charlie's door when the door swung open and his brother met him with a grin. They embraced, slapping one another on the back.

"Ye of little faith," Charlie chided, pulling away. "You were sure I wouldn't make it."

Harrison didn't deny it. "I'm glad I was wrong, little brother."

A flash of green across the room caught his eye, drawing his gaze. Harrison froze. On a chair beside the window, her hands tied together in her lap, sat the palest woman he'd ever seen. And, God help him, the most beautiful. Princess Ilaria. Goose bumps lifted on his forearms as the hair rose on the back of his neck. Esri.

"Easy, bro," Charlie said quietly. "Why don't you come into the room?"

She looked exactly like the painting. Exactly. Both her skin and hair were pale, pale, pale, but not the ultratoothpaste-white of some of the Esri. Creamy, like new ivory, startling and stunning against the shimmering emerald green of her gown.

Striking.

Her hair fell in soft curls, framing a face that might have been considered delicate on another woman. But he sensed nothing delicate about this one. Her full, sculpted mouth sat firm upon an oval face framed by a strong, finely curved jaw. Her eyes, as brilliantly emerald as her gown, flashed with intelligence and steel, reminding him she was no twentysomething-year-old, no matter what she looked like.

Charlie thrust out his hand to the two Sitheen recruits, who were still standing in the hallway. "Charlie Rand."

"Brad Parsons," the kid replied. Not such a kid, really. Not at twenty-five. Kade had found him at Quantico, training to be a U.S. Marine.

Harrison's gaze dipped, drawn against his will to that shimmering green gown that covered the princess neck to wrists to ankles, yet hugged her form, setting off her full breasts to perfect advantage. A charge of raw attraction bolted through his blood, horrifying him. She was Esri. But God help him, he couldn't tear his gaze away.

"Tom Drummond," their pilot said behind him as the introductions continued without him. Tom was mid-forties, an air force colonel Kade had found who was bored and restless at a desk job in the Pentagon. All Kade had to do was touch a human to know if he or she was Sitheen. All he had to do to convince them his story was true was cut himself and let them watch him heal in an instant.

A top-notch recruiter.

Like the others, Tom had taken temporary leave until they got this invasion under control. The President of the United States himself now knew the situation and had given them carte blanche to deal with it. Only a handful outside the Sitheen circle knew what was really going on. And they intended to keep it that way.

Struggling against his unholy fascination, Harrison finally managed to wrench his gaze from Princess Ilaria. Glancing around, he took in the clean, sparse lines of the Nordic decor before noticing Tarrys standing by the foot of the bed. She gave him a small smile unlike any he'd seen on her before. Not shy this time. Not subservient. A smile of welcome. And confidence.

She'd changed. Gone was the slave's robe, as well as the hair that had started to grow on her head. She was dressed in leather boots, dark slacks and a thick wool sweater that nevertheless accentuated her slenderness. The picture of casual bald chic. But the differences went deeper. Gone was the skittish little slave. In her place stood a woman of bearing and confidence. A woman who held herself with pride, meeting his gaze with strength and certainty.

Transformed.

Just what had happened to her and his brother in that place? He had no idea, but it occurred to him that maybe Charlie's falling for her wasn't magic after all. At least not the unnatural kind.

Charlie ushered them into the room and closed the door, then went to Tarrys, his gaze