Chapter One
Cats flew hissing off the bed. His body jerked into a sitting position, his eyes searching the room even as he reached for the gun that sat in the drawer next to his bed. Before he could retrieve it, he forced himself to calm, realizing that once more, it was just a dream.
The same damn crazy dream that had been plaguing him for months ever since he flew out to Wyoming to help Hunter and his new wife while they were on the run from their own personal demon. That personal demon was now spending the rest of his life in a cement box far away from the riches and power he so adored.
Brandon Austin rubbed his hand across his chest, feeling the still healing scar of the bullet that had almost ended his life. Shot in the line of duty, it was how he'd always planned on going to meet his maker, but this, well, this was something else.
She'd been little more than a kid, a psychotic, fucked up kid whose father had been beating her since she was little and had trained her to walk the streets. He'd gotten her hooked on drugs, and had turned what could have been a promising young woman into a street smart tough.
With a gun.
Brandon could still feel it puncturing his flesh, the burst of icy pain, the shocking numbness, the heated agony that followed. He'd lain in the street, yanking his gun from its holster, returning the fire. The girl had lived, but now she would spend the rest of her life in a federal prison for shooting an FBI agent.
He sighed, remembering Angel's face when they'd brought him into the emergency room. She'd stood there, her pregnant stomach pushing against his arm. The baby had kicked him, he remembered that too, even as she brushed his hair back from his face, staring him in the eyes and talking to him as the others worked on him.
She'd kept him alive. Brandon knew it. If he hadn't had those warm green eyes looking into his and her soft hand in his own, he might have given up. He owed her, though she scoffed at the thought.
He laid back down on his bed, his body tense, too many memories haunting him. The ghosts of the past didn't just come on Christmas Eve. They attacked him whenever he let down his guard, letting him know that he'd seen too much, had done too much. Now he didn't know if he'd be able to go back to the bureau. He didn't know if he was still cut out to do the only job he'd ever wanted. He didn't know if he could trust his instincts.
A small form jumped on the bed, padded up over the bunched up covers and climbed onto his stomach, purring the entire time. Brandon reached out his hand, fondling the kitten's head even as she swatted at his hand with her paw. He picked her up, settling her in his arms, stroking her fur while she purred contentedly.
The sigh that came from his lips spoke more of tiredness than anything else. He dropped the kitten on the bed beside him, curled up under the thick covers and let his body relax, praying the dreams wouldn't come again.
* * * *
A whiff of spice, a hint of musk and a strange sort of incense wafted to his nose, leading him forward, ever onward through a maze of tents. He pushed through the fabric opening of the first tent, noting its striped canvas and the luxury of the interior. Satins and silks, thick furs of all kinds were strewn everywhere. Huge pillows meant to cushion the body were placed on the thickly carpeted floors. A feast was set out before him, luscious meats, creamy cheeses, crusty breads, ripe fruits all meant to be eaten with the fingers, sat on plates, awaiting his appetite.
This was his place, he knew it. He could sense it. It felt good to be here, like coming home after a long work week and realizing that you could sleep in the next day kind of good. Seemingly with a volition of their own, his feet carried him to one of the pillows and he dropped down upon it, clapping his hands like some royal pasha calling for his harem.
The music started. It was a driving rhythm, meant to entice, meant to enflame. It rose in tempo and sound and then changed, becoming more intimate as around him, candles were lit, scenting the air and changing the atmosphere.
She came into the room like a tiny tornado, twirling and spinning, the soft gold of her skirts flaring around her, showing off firm legs and a hint of dark pelt between her thighs. Her face was veiled, her eyes heavily outlined with kohl, emphasizing their catlike shape and the amazing amber color. Her hair swirled around her, long and thick, curls caressing the naked skin of her back, the softness of her arms as she moved. She wore gold slave bands, circling the taut muscles of her upper arms, and a slim girdle of gold was adorned with bells, surrounding her slender waist.
With her dark hair and the promise that shone in those amber eyes, she was pure sensual magic. She danced close to him, her fingers trailing across his chest, using her hair as a silken whip of pleasure, surrounding him in the sinfulness of her scent.
She teased him, leading him on only to push him away, her dancing feet a swift blur of movement.
"Do you want me?" she whispered, her hands stroking down his chest, sliding across his stomach. "Do you want to make love to me?
"Yes." It was the only thing he could say. She was erotic and sensual, flaming his passions with her every touch, her every move.
She backed away and he rose to follow, watching the enticing motions of her hands as they urged him onward. Out of the room and through another flap she went, slowing only to scald him with a heated, needful look before she disappeared.
He pushed through the flap, finding the next room deserted, the change in the atmosphere of the place from sinfully erotic to creepy and dark confusing him for a moment.
"Shanna?" he called, knowing it was her he was seeking.
Cobwebs hung from old wooden rafters, streaming down and tangling in his hair. They brushed across his face, sticky and annoying. He did his best to ignore them and their inhabitants, instead searching every room he came to, growing more angry with every second she hid from him.
"This isn't funny anymore, Shanna. Come on out." He growled the words but there was no sign of the tantalizing woman.
"Fine," he called loudly. "Stay here and rot then, Shanna. I don't need you." But he did and he knew it. He compared every woman to her, hadn't been able to go on a second date with anyone since she'd dropped into his life. He was infatuated.
He heard her giggle, turning quickly to see a glimpse of gold shift. "Shanna?" he shouted. "Come on, baby."
Her sudden scream made his blood run cold. He ran in that direction, his feet feeling like lead, the floor like mud, sucking him down. He could see her outline, shadowed in the light as she fought. Then he saw the knife.
It was just a shadow, long and slightly curved, rising above her head before falling toward her.
He watched it strike, sinking deep into the shadow girl as she screamed and he roared with the pain of not being able to protect her once more.
