The Stone Warriors: Dragan Page 13

  Chapter Nine

  MAEVE ROLLED INTO the solid heat next to her. The room temperature had dropped during the night, and they’d both been too tired to bother with figuring out the furnace—too busy washing off the blood and sweat of the evening. She sighed and cuddled closer to—

  Shit! She froze in place, then very, very slowly rolled away from Dragan’s big, warm body and sat up. Holding that position, she shifted just her eyes sideways to make sure he hadn’t woken up. Assured that her invasion of his personal space had gone unnoticed, she cautiously stood and moved back to her own bed, tugging the—

  “You forgot your pillow.”

  She uttered an undignified squeak, turning so quickly that her legs got twisted, and she fell in an awkward heap onto her bed. “Sorry,” she said, staring at him and wondering how much he remembered. Hell, wondering what she’d done. She hadn’t been cuddled up to him when she fell asleep, that much was certain.

  “I don’t mind, you know.” His smile was gentle, without a hint of sexuality.

  Maeve didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at that.

  He studied her a moment longer, his eyes half-closed, then said, “I’ve never before had anyone seek comfort with me after a battle. Someone who trusted me enough to keep them safe.” He shrugged slightly. “With my brothers, it was different. We fought together, we took care of each other. But we were all powerful warriors, we provided safety—we didn’t seek it. But before then, before I was called into Nicodemus’s service, when I was the goddess’s defender and nothing else, I had no one.”

  She frowned. “But . . . you lived in a village, in your father’s kingdom. You were their hero, their defender.”

  His smile was sad this time. “I was their monster, the one sent out to fight, because I was bigger and more deadly than any other monster. But that’s all I was. They didn’t see me as a man, as a neighbor. Certainly not a hero.”

  “What about your family? Your parents, your older brother?”

  “I was taken from my mother’s birthing bed to be raised by priests whose only purpose was to prepare me to serve the goddess. I had no contact with my family, and the priests had no care for me. Once I was old enough to live alone, they never spoke to me again.”

  Maeve’s eyes filled with tears as she crawled off her bed and back to his, lying next to him and hugging him as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I care about you. And you’re not a monster. You’re Dragan, and you’re my hero.”

  He gazed down at her curly head lying so close to his, close enough that the soft strands of her hair were caught up in the scruff of his beard. Moving his arm around her shoulders, he squeezed gently and said, “Very well. I’ll be your defender, then. Until we find the others.”

  Maeve tensed when he hugged her. It was a little embarrassing to be twenty-six years old and still a virgin. She’d never even lain in bed with a man—at least not before last night—had never felt the hard strength of a man’s arm around her. It felt so good, so protective. She hadn’t felt like this since she’d been a small child in the arms of her parents, or grandparents. This was very different from that, however. And not in a bad way. She slowly relaxed, feeling his chest move with every breath, his heart thudding against her ear. She smiled privately, certain he couldn’t see it.

  She could have stayed there all morning, but they didn’t have time. Reluctantly, she sighed and said, “We should go.”

  She felt more than saw his nod.

  “We must find Nicodemus, before Sotiris catches up with us. I may be a monster, but he is a far more dangerous beast.”

  She sat up and scowled down at him. “I told you, you’re not a monster. Stop saying that. Now, come on, let me show you where we’re going today. I checked the various routes last night. I even thought about using back roads, just in case someone’s on our tail. But it adds too much travel time. We’ll be better off sticking to highways and getting there faster.”

  “I agree.”

  “So take a look.” She spread out the map she’d picked up at the gas station, before everything had gone to hell, and traced the route she’d highlighted while he’d been in the shower last night. She could have simply pulled it up on her computer, but this would be easier for Dragan to follow while she drove.

  He gave the map a quick glance, his eyes following the bright yellow line with a practiced ease, then stood quickly, the sudden absence of his weight leaving her bouncing on the bed behind him.

  “Don’t forget,” he said, before disappearing into the small bathroom, “I’m driving today.”

  She lifted her head to protest, just in time to hear his chuckle from behind the closed door.

  Interstate 95, south to Savannah, GA

  MAEVE GRIPPED THE handrest on the passenger side door as Dragan maneuvered his way through the connection to Interstate 95. It wasn’t that complex. Not compared to Boston or Manhattan traffic, but there was enough traffic to make the merge onto I-95 a tricky maneuver. She also had a feeling that Dragan didn’t have much experience in giving way, which was a big part of merging.

  She was proven wrong a few minutes later, when he completed the maneuver easily and with surprising skill. Surprising only because until a few days ago, he’d never even seen a car, much less a busy interstate. But she was beginning to understand that whatever experiences had shaped Dragan before he’d been cursed—experiences that mostly revolved around fighting and killing—seemed to translate into an ability to adapt and flourish in new environments. Add in a very sharp intellect, and he might even be better at surviving modern society than she was. After all, she’d been the one hiding in a big house on the lake.

  He glanced over at her sigh. “Problem, Mae?”

  She loved the way he shortened her name. She thought of herself as “Mae,” but no one, not even her family, had called her that. And the few friends who’d tried had always gone with Eve, which she’d discouraged. But “Mae,” she liked that. Or maybe she just liked him. Yes, she was the idiot girl who was falling for the big, strong man with emotional scars.

  “Maeve?”

  She looked over with a smile. “Just thinking about what a good driver you are.”

  He slid a very quick sidelong glance her way. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No. You’re already better than I am.” She heard the cynical note in her voice, but he only laughed.

  “Compared to staying alive in the middle of a thousand fighters, all screaming for your blood, driving from one road to the next isn’t much.”

  “Okay, well. When you put it that way . . .”

  “Where do you want to stop tonight?” he asked, biting back a smile.

  Maeve reached over and manipulated the nav screen, trying to gauge where they were, relative to where they were going. She’d hoped they could reach the Florida border tonight—something she now understood had been too optimistic. Maybe if she’d been able to sleep while he drove, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, no matter how good a driver he was. It wasn’t in her genes to relax that much.

  “Savannah, Georgia,” she said thoughtfully, then scrolled a bit farther south. “Yeah. Savannah looks good. It’s another hundred miles or so, and about twenty miles off the highway. We probably won’t have to go all the way to the city to find a hotel.”

  “Guess you’ll have to trust my driving a little longer, then.” His tone was so smug, she wanted to punch him. But then, he might punch back, or even poke one finger back, which would leave a bruise on her deathly pale skin. And then, he’d feel bad. She’d noticed that about him. For all the neglect he’d received from the people in his life, he’d picked up a strong thread of decency somewhere. She loved, er liked, that, too.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she intoned instead. “No one likes a braggart.”

  He laughed again. “Even I know i
t’s not bragging if it’s true.”

  She stared at him. “Where’d you pick that up? And don’t tell me it’s from your battlefield days. That’s a totally modern idiom!”

  “Television, I guess. I told you, the damn sorcerer liked to torment me with what I was missing. That was before you came.”

  She supposed that was possible. And why was she suddenly so grumpy? “I’m hungry,” she decided out loud. “I get cranky when I’m hungry.”

  “Good to know. I’ll have to keep you fed.”

  Maeve stared through the windshield at the boring highway and wondered when their roles had shifted. Shouldn’t she be the one keeping them fed? Though it was a lot less stressful now that Dragan had become a bit more comfortable with this new world. She relaxed her seatback a little and rested her arm on the center console, watching the empty countryside roll past. And when Dragan’s hand lifted to brush hers in a brief caress, she smiled.

  DRAGAN HAD FOLLOWED Maeve’s directions to the hotel without mishap and now lay on one of the two beds, contemplating the number and variety of lodgings in this highway town, and whether the vast armies of this world had developed better battlefield accommodations for their soldiers than the ones he’d shared with his brothers as part of Nico’s army. Maeve’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

  “Are you hungry?”

  He lifted his gaze to where she stood at the foot of his bed, and smiled. “I’m a warrior, Mae. We’re always hungry.”

  She smiled back. “Then get up, handsome. There’s a restaurant in the next building.”

  He knifed up to stand next to her with an ease born of hours of physical exertion in his old life. Sotiris’s spell had held his body in the same shape as when he’d been cursed. Not out of charity, but because he’d wanted the four warriors to remain alive to suffer, not die quickly within their prisons. But now that Dragan was free, he was going to need a lot more physical activity than what he’d been getting if he was to maintain his peak fighting form. Thus far, he’d spent every hour since his freedom either sitting in the SUV or trying to sleep.

  With that on his mind, he caught Maeve’s hand as they exited the hotel. Her fingers squeezed his as she looked up at him, her expression one of wary pleasure. He thought for a moment before asking a question, wanting to avoid insulting her with unintentionally clumsy words. For all that he knew this country’s English, Maeve was right. All language was inherently nuanced.

  “I want to ask you a question,” he said finally. “It’s an honest query, so please don’t be offended if I use the wrong words.”

  “Of course,” she said instantly, nudging his arm with her shoulder. “Ask.”

  Dragan considered for a moment, then said, “You appear to be in excellent physical condition—”

  “Well, not excellent,” she protested. “But I get your point. Please continue.”

  “In my world, I trained daily with the blade, with my horse, with whatever weapons came to hand, so that I was always prepared when called upon, by either the goddess or Nico. In this world . . .”

  “Ah, yeah. In this world, our society is so focused on ease and convenience that unless you’re in professional sports, or on active duty military, which would be more the kind of training you’re used to, you have to work at staying in shape. Some people run, some go to the gym, lift weights.” Her voice trailed off when she saw the look on his face. “Problem?”

  “I’m going to need more than running.”

  She laughed. “I guess you will. Maybe if, when, we find Nico. Was he a warrior, or just a sorcerer like Sotiris?”

  “There was no ‘just a sorcerer’ in our battles. Nico and the others he faced—”

  “Others? It wasn’t just Sotiris?”

  “No, Sotiris was just the most powerful, the only one who presented a genuine challenge to Nico’s rule. And they were both warriors.”

  “Like your brothers? I’m guessing they were like you back in the day?”

  “Back in the day,” he repeated, tasting the words. “The four of us were the most feared warriors of our time. Is that what you mean?”

  “Exactly. So I’m guessing your Nico will have figured out the answer to the problem of training.”

  He nodded, his mood lightening at the thought of reuniting with Nico, and his confidence bolstered by Maeve’s belief that it would happen. “So what’s this restaurant?”

  “Typical coffee shop. We can eat there, or take it back to the room, whatever you prefer.”

  “What do you want?”

  She smiled up at him again, and he discovered he liked being with her like this—her fingers, slender yet strong around his, the open pleasure of her smile warming him from the inside. And he knew he’d do just about anything to keep her safe and by his side. It was more than he’d ever felt for a woman.

  As they reached the glass door to the restaurant, a young male pushed it open and shoved his way out. Dragan tugged Maeve back against his chest, holding her there with an arm across her shoulders from behind, while giving the offender a dark glare.

  “I apologize for my son,” a voice said, drawing Dragan’s attention to an older man exiting behind the young one. “Boys, right?” The man offered a weak smile that was more embarrassed than friendly.

  Dragan noted privately that the “boy” was old enough to have been considered a man in his world. A growl started low in his chest, too low to be heard, but Maeve must have felt the vibration, because she pushed back against his chest, as if to keep him in place, and gave the man a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “It’s okay,” she offered pleasantly. “It’s dark. He probably didn’t see us.”

  “The hell he didn’t,” Dragan muttered against her ear, but she pinched his thigh, surprising him into silence as the man hurried past with a furtive glance.

  Ignoring the father, Dragan turned Maeve to face him. “Are you all right? He didn’t hit you?”

  She shook her head. “It was no big deal. This is suburbia. It’s full of rude teenagers and hardworking parents doing the best they can.”

  “Your rude teenager would have been a man in my world. Actions like that would have gotten him killed.”

  “Thank God we’re not in your world, then, huh? Come on, let’s eat, before you start taking out the local teenagers.”

  MAEVE ENJOYED A glass of wine with her dinner that night. It wasn’t the greatest wine she’d ever tasted, but it wasn’t bad for a chain hotel restaurant. Dragan certainly enjoyed it, drinking two glasses and praising its flavor, while also criticizing its low alcohol content. She stuck to the one glass, conscious of her limits and their still-precarious situation. There’d been no sign of Sotiris, but she didn’t for one minute believe he’d given up. He wasn’t the kind to accept defeat graciously.

  “Do you think those vampires were sent by Sotiris?” she asked abruptly, the sudden thought threatening to destroy more than just her mood.

  Dragan eyed her thoughtfully, giving every appearance of taking her question seriously, before shaking his head in the negative. “No. If it had been just the three of them, I would have given the possibility greater credence. But that sheriff and his deputy were also vampires, and they just wanted us gone. Sotiris is smart enough to have suborned the local authorities to do his bidding. Knowing that whoever he sent would have to face me, as well, he wouldn’t have trusted the three who attacked. Obviously, I can’t offer you certainty on this, but my considerable knowledge of Sotiris, and of killing in general, tells me they were no more than inexperienced thugs, who saw a lone woman and thought her an easy target.”

  Maeve considered his words—the thought he’d put into his answer, and the conviction in his voice—and decided she agreed with him. She blew out a relieved breath, but couldn’t rid herself of the unwelcome truth. Sotiris didn’t have to catch up with
them. He could simply pick up a phone and hire someone locally.

  But for tonight, at least, they were safe, and she was feeling warm and happy when they arrived back at their room. Dragan had taken her hand as soon as they’d left the restaurant, and the night had been cloudless and mild, with no sign of vampires or any other danger. It had felt almost like a date. The best one she’d ever had. Maybe the best she’d ever have in the future.

  Because she knew this couldn’t last, no matter how much she might want it to. She’d never even known a man like Dragan, much less spent time with him, laughing, holding hands. She swallowed her sigh, so he wouldn’t hear. As soon as they met up with Nicodemus—which she hoped would be soon, no matter what it might mean for her time with Dragan—he’d forget about her and go off with his old friends. Oh, sure, he’d kiss her cheek and make sure she was safe, but they wouldn’t be staying together. There was no way a man like Dragan could look at her bookish self and see a woman he wanted to keep around. She sighed again, and forgot to conceal it, catching his attention as he pushed the door shut and slid the various locks into place.

  “Are you well, sweet?” he asked, turning to study her.

  A blush heated her cheeks at the endearment, despite her earlier thoughts. “I’m okay,” she lied. “Just thinking about the next few days.”

  He hummed wordlessly as he sat on the bed to unlace his boots.

  Not wanting to deal with any awkward conversation about what might happen after they reached Florida—and especially not wanting to hear any platitudes from Dragan, who was far too kind to simply come out and tell her the inevitable truth—she dropped her purse on the table, her jacket on a chair, and grabbing her night clothes, headed for the bathroom.