Nicole Jordan - Desire

Terror exploded inside him, along with a blinding rage. Rashly he raised his pistol and fired, but the Frenchman dodged and the shot went wide, careening off the rock wall, splintering and sending dusty fragments flying.

In motion before the blast’s echo had faded, Lucian gave a roar of pure animal fury and dove across the cave. He hurled himself at the Frenchman, aiming for the thighs, his full weight behind his assault.

Jack reeled backward under the bone-jarring impact of being tackled to the cold rock floor, his useless weapons clattering to the ground.

Taking advantage of his opponent’s momentary daze, Lucian pushed himself up to a straddling position and landed a blow with his fist, determined to pummel the Frenchman into a bloody pulp. He released another brutally powerful punch to the jaw, then another, showing no mercy despite the man’s cries of pain.

When Jack raised his hands in an effort to defend himself against the ferocious onslaught, Lucian glanced fleetingly over his shoulder, desperately seeking Brynn, needing to know the worst. He saw her struggling to rise from the ground and felt a fierce surge of relief, knowing she couldn’t be too terribly injured.

His distraction proved costly, however. The Frenchman’s fist struck his temple, pain blinding him for a precious second as the skin above his eye split.

Cursing, Lucian dodged his opponent’s next blows and tried to clear his vision of the blood dripping from his wound. An instant later he was choking as Jack’s clawing fingers caught him by the throat. He let fly another hard jab and rolled to the side, forcing the Frenchman to loosen his grip.

Behind him, Brynn staggered to her knees, trying to clear her dazed senses. She was winded from having tripped, and her arm stung like fire from a gunshot wound. But the bullet had missed Lucian, that was all that mattered. Her relief was so profound, she felt weak-a relief that was short-lived.

She saw Lucian fighting, while Gray lay on his back, his hands groping his side, his face ashen. She bit back a sob. Grayson was alive at least, while Lucian needed help.

Her frantic gaze landed on her brother’s pistol, which lay several yards from her. Jolting herself from her paralysis, she climbed to her feet and stumbled over to the weapon, catching it up to hold the grip in both hands.

She couldn’t shoot, though, without fear of hitting Lucian, who was locked in mortal combat. When she heard a groan at her feet, she spared a brief glance for her brother.

“I never knew… being shot… would hurt so much,” he gasped.

His voice was almost drowned out by the grunts of the combatants, but it was Lucian’s sharp curse that sent cold horror spiraling down to Brynn’s belly. The two men were wrestling side by side now, but the Frenchman had a knife!

The blade flashed as he raised his arm and stabbed downward. With another curse, Lucian jerked backward, then reached up to grasp his opponent’s wrist with both hands.

Brynn watched, her breath frozen in her throat as the Frenchman jerked his arm free. Drawing back, he struck again, flailing with the dagger.

She moved forward, helplessly aiming her pistol, but just then, Lucian rolled free. Panting for breath, the Frenchman leapt up and made a dash for the entrance to the tunnel. Climbing wearily to his feet, Lucian sprinted after him.

Brynn started to follow but threw a desperate glance over her shoulder at her wounded brother.

“Go… I’ll be all right…” Gray rasped. “Try to save him.”

She lunged for the tunnel where the two men had disappeared. Her legs shaking, her pulse pounding, she plunged into the darkness.

She was blind for a moment, but when she heard the distant echo of footsteps, she pressed on sightlessly, using the tunnel wall as a guide.

She was breathless by the time she came to the tunnel’s end, her chest aching with fear. She could detect a faint hint of light, but she had to round a sharp corner and move past a crevice in the rock wall before stumbling out onto the shingle beach.

The dark night was thick with a brewing storm, the ghostly clouds above silvered by a hint of moonlight and swept along by a chill salt breeze. Frantic, Brynn glanced down the shoreline each way, seeing nothing but outcroppings of rock, hearing nothing over the sound of the waves and her own ragged breaths.

Struggling to drag air into her lungs, she looked back over her shoulder, her gaze climbing upward along the cliff face. Her heart jolted when she saw two black shapes overhead; the Frenchman was racing up the cliff walk, Lucian hard on his heels. She could almost hear the harsh sound of their panting.

A moment later, Lucian caught his prey. With a staggering lunge, he tumbled Jack to the rough path.

Both men were on their feet in an instant. Rather than continuing to flee, though. Jack suddenly spun and swung his deadly blade. Lucian stumbled backward and slipped, nearly losing his footing on the narrow track. Brynn barely stifled a scream as he pressed against the cliff wall to regain his balance.

Her heart in her throat, she clutched the pistol in her shaking grasp, trying to aim at the Frenchman. Did she dare shoot? They were so close to each other…

She had no choice, for Jack attacked again, his knife held high as he charged Lucian. Praying, Brynn squeezed the trigger.

The gunshot exploded in her ears. An instant later she heard a cry from one of the men. Then Jack crashed into Lucian, who couldn’t brace for the impact.

For one endless moment, the two combatants stood locked together on the brink of the precipice. Then, with agonizing slowness, they hurtled over the ledge.

Her heart no longer beating, Brynn watched in helpless terror as they tumbled together in a death grip onto the rocky shore below.

The nightmare was real, Lucian thought, dazed. Brynn stood over him in the darkness, her fiery hair spilling around her shoulders, her hands slick with his blood…

Was he dying? The dull ache in his head-in his entire body-made him think so.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them again, Brynn was still there, kneeling beside him, weeping, gently cradling his face with searching fingers. She seemed distraught as she pleaded hoarsely with him, “Lucian, please… please… you can’t die… Dear God, please…”

Her lips moved over his face in frantic despair, as if she truly cared whether he lived or died. As if she truly loved him…

His heart wrenched with hope. Wincing, Lucian stiffly turned his head. The Frenchman lay on his back, eyes wide, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

Realization struck Lucian, slicing through his churning thoughts. His nightmare had not come true. He wasn’t dying. He had lived when his enemy had not.

At his brief movement, he heard Brynn inhale sharply, her sobs arrested as she stared down at him. In the dimness, he could see her eyes alight with stark fear, with hope, could see the glitter of tears streaking her cheeks.

“Lucian?” she uttered, her voice raw and trembling.

He raised his hand to brush a tendril of wildly cascading hair from her face. She had lost her seaman’s cap, and her tresses shimmered like dark flame in the faint moonlight.

“I’m alive…” he whispered.

She gave another sob, a strangled sound of pure joy, while her fingers clutched reflexively at his shirt. “I d-didn’t shoot you? ”

“No, your shot hit Jack…” Reacting with primal instinct, Lucian pulled her into his arms, capturing her mouth in a hard caress, needing to feel her warm body pressed against him, needing to share the exhilaration of being alive.

For an instant Brynn froze in startlement at his sudden passion, but then she returned his kiss fervently, with the same desperation. She seemed to be laughing and crying at the same time, relief and gladness profoundly evident in her response.

He held her closer, drinking of her mouth, his arms tightening around her fiercely-until he heard her gasp of pain. His fingers had grasped the upper part of her left arm.

Drawing back, Lucian probed her arm in the darkness, feeling the rent in her jacket. The fabric was wet with blood, he realized, suddenly chilled.

“You’re wounded,” he said, his tone accusing.

Brynn glanced down at her arm, almost in surprise. “I suppose I am.”

His jaw clenched as he remembered what had happened in the cave: Brynn leaping in front of the bullet that was meant for him, deflecting the shot with her lantern just enough to save his life. His heart turned over. Dear God, she had come so close to dying for his sake…

Another realization struck him at the same moment. In his dark dreams, the blood on Brynn’s hands was his, not hers. But this outcome was different; she was the one wounded. She hadn’t sought to kill him as he’d seen in his nightmare. Instead she had saved his life a second time when she’d shot his enemy and kept him from being gutted by Jack’s knife.

Gratitude shuddered through Lucian, mingled with dread at what might have happened to her. He had been so wrong about Brynn.

“It is only a flesh wound,” she murmured at his grim silence, but he wasn’t reassured.

“Are you certain?” he demanded. “You’re not hurt elsewhere?” He reached out to press his hand against her abdomen. “The babe?”

Her hand covered his protectively. “I don’t think it was harmed.”

His frantic thoughts eased a degree.

“You’re bleeding as well,” she said, still concerned. When she touched the split flesh above his eye, Lucian winced. “Where else are you hurt?”