Storm Warrior

“What?” Morgan almost took her eyes off the field to stare at her friend. “Are you kidding me? Look at what he’s doing to his opponents!”

“Look at what they’re doing to him.”

It was true. Rhys was making his uncanny progress despite a countless number of stabs and slices from the castle defenders’ staves. She squinted and discerned that Rhys appeared to be anticipating the blows, turning his body aside at the last moment to shield his vitals and often ripping the weapon from their hands at the same time. There was a rhythm to it like the swing of a pendulum—twist, bend, seize, with a follow-through of collected force. The offender was either clubbed with his own bamboo sword or felled with Rhys’s fist. One enemy, one blow.

What kind of skill and calculation did that take in the midst of chaos?

Their team’s tactic was simple. Rhys was the point of an arrow, with Brandan, Mike, Jay, and the others forming a wedge behind him. Together they drove a path through the defenders to the faux castle, and it wasn’t long before they had gained the uppermost tower and claimed its flag. Thunderous applause erupted from the crowd, even from those who had originally been cheering for other teams. Many of the fighters Rhys had knocked down were clapping and cheering and waving as well.

Men, thought Morgan. Beat the living daylights out of each other, and then they’re all pals.

The humor was lost, however, as cold realization chilled her blood. Medical attendants were on the field, checking everyone over. It didn’t look like anyone was too badly hurt. And all of Rhys’s opponents were on their feet. But if he’d been armed with a real blade, she thought, none of them would be getting up. Not one. And the body count would be enormous. Jay’s words echoed in her brain: His style of swordplay isn’t play. It’s kill or be killed. It’s the real thing, Morgan. And you can only get that kind of skill one way.

From one place…

Leo’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Will you look at that dog,” he said. “I’ve never seen a hound so big.”

Morgan looked in the direction he was pointing. “Where?”

“Right there, down at the bottom of the stands. The big black one.”

Rhyswr? She jumped to her feet even as her heart leapt in hope, but she saw nothing but the crowd of people emptying the bleachers and heading out to the field. “I can’t see it. Starr, do you see a dog anywhere?”

Her friend had risen to follow the crowd, no doubt to get to Jay, but the frantic note in Morgan’s voice made her stop. “Is there a dog? There shouldn’t be—the board didn’t allow dogs this year because people didn’t pick up after them at the last fair.” She glanced around, appeared to see nothing, and continued down the steps.

“Where is it?” Morgan asked Leo, and was surprised when he stood and pointed.

“How can you miss it? It’s right there in front of us. Biggest dog ever. Looks like a goddamn pony and black as sin.”

The area directly in front of the bleachers cleared, and for a moment Morgan saw absolutely nothing but bare, hard-packed ground with a few fluttering bits of debris stuck to the brave few blades of grass. She blinked —

And suddenly she did see a dog. It wasn’t Rhyswr. It wasn’t even a mastiff. Rangy and tall, more like a wolfhound from hell, it sat with grinning jaws that seemed too wide for its face and looked directly up at Leo.

“I’ll bet it eats a whole bag of dog food in a sitting,” he said.

Morgan wasn’t sure the animal ate anything so benign. Maybe she was overtired and her imagination was running off with her, but there was something downright creepy about this dog. And how on earth had she missed—

A movement to her left drew her attention back to her friend. His left arm was jerking spasmodically away from his body and back again. “Leo, are you all right?”

The old man appeared to be talking to his disobedient arm. “What in blue blazes is the matter with you?”

Omigod, I think he’s having a stroke! “Leo, sit down now. Let me have a look at you.”

The giant dog raised its head and howled loud and long, a dismal ululation that vibrated her very bones. At the same moment, Leo’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Morgan’s cell phone tumbled through the bleachers to the ground below as she made a frantic grab for her friend.

On the battlement of the central tower of the castle, Rhys and his teammates had their hands in the air, shouting in triumph. It was a perfect moment, with the entire crowd below hollering and waving at them. Better than anything was the purely male satisfaction of knowing that the woman he loved was in the stands and that she had witnessed his victory.

An unearthly howl sliced through the noise of the crowd like a sword’s edge through paper.

No one reacted. In fact, no one seemed to have heard it except him—and that made his blood chill even more. Rhys looked over at the bleachers where Morgan stood beside Leo and Ranyon. Something wasn’t right. The ellyll was swinging on Leo’s arm as if trying to pull him away from something. Morgan had hold of Leo’s other arm, even as he was trying to point down at the field. Rhys’s gaze followed to the ground in front of the bleachers where something large and black—

Gods alive, it was a grim.

“No!” he yelled and began pushing his way down the steps. It was impossible with so many people trying to make their way up. He ran back to the balustrade—shouting at his friends: “Leo’s in trouble!”—and sprang to a ladder that was leaning against the castle wall. There was a sea of people beneath it, and some were on it. Damn it! He couldn’t jump—it was a good thirty feet to the ground.

Jay and Mike were at his side at once. “Leo’s going down,” said Mike, and Rhys snapped his head around in time to see Leo crumple to the floor of the bleachers.

As Jay whipped out a cell phone and dialed 911, Brandan jumped onto the ladder ahead of Rhys and started booting at people and waving them away. “Emergency,” he yelled. “Get the fuck out of the way!” He menaced them with his padded sword and swatted a few with the flat of it. For a moment it looked like the crowd wasn’t paying attention, but Brandan was nearly as big as Rhys, and finally they began moving back, slowly at first, then quickly. The ladder emptied in front of him, and Rhys came down fast behind him.

Moments later, Rhys was running to the bleachers with everything he had. An ambulance with lights flashing and sirens blaring was racing up the infield toward them. He could see Morgan kneeling over Leo and shouting at him, calling on the old man to hang on, hang on—

Everything in Rhys’s heart urged him to go to her and to go to his friend, right now. But if he did so, he’d doom Leo for certain. There was only one chance to save the man who had taken him in, mentored and befriended him—and it was a long shot. As he reached the stands, Rhys veered to the left, following the path of the great black grim that only he could see.

If only Morgan hadn’t seen him…

The EMTs had been fast, thank heavens. In minutes, Leo was on his way to the hospital, with half the team and Morgan following behind in Brandan’s truck. She was grateful for the ride, feeling shaken to the core by Leo’s sudden collapse. And cut to the quick by Rhys’s bizarre disappearing act. Why would he run off like that? Why chase a dog? Didn’t he care about Leo? Or her? Surely he couldn’t have been that reluctant to come near her—she wasn’t exactly scary, even when angry. And if he cared about her as he claimed, wouldn’t he have come to her side no matter what?

She put it out of her mind and jumped up as the doctor came into the waiting room. She was relieved to see it was someone she knew, Kate Walmsley. “Is Leo okay? Is it a stroke?”

The doctor put her hands up in a calming gesture. “Technically, I’m supposed to talk to family only, Morgan, but I know you came in with him and his family isn’t here. So, strictly professional to professional—meaning, you never heard a thing from me—Mr. Waterson is stable for the moment. We’re running some tests, but he doesn’t