Warrior Rising. Pamela Palmer
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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 softening with an expression Harrison had never seen in his brother’s eyes. Adoration. Love. A look utterly returned by the petite Marceil. A soft, lovely smile wreathed Tarrys’s pretty face as she took the hand he proffered.
Harrison was the first to admit that he was no expert on enchantment, but he knew love when he saw it. At least in other people. Hell, between Jack and Larsen, and Autumn and Kade, he was choking on the stuff. And watching Charlie and Tarrys, he was all too afraid he was indeed about to gain an immortal sister-in-law.
Charlie pulled the small woman against him and turned to face them. “This is Tarrys, soon to be my wife.”
“She’s bald,” Brad murmured behind him.
Charlie merely lifted an eyebrow. “So?”
“Sorry, sir,” Brad said with quick contrition. His gaze skipped to Tarrys. “Ma’am. I didn’t mean any offense.”
Tarrys’s eyes turned soft with understanding. “Few women of your world go without hair. Fewer still, willingly. It’s unusual.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is,” Brad said. “Still, I should have kept the thought to myself.”
“Neither of the women are human?” Tom asked. Harrison had briefed the men about Ilaria, but not Tarrys.
Charlie’s gaze sharpened, but his voice remained even. “Both are from Esria. Both are immortal. Tarrys is a Marceillian priestess who’s been enslaved by the Esri.”
“And I am Princess Ilaria, the rightful queen of Esria.” Ilaria’s firm yet melodious voice filled the room. It was a voice that pleasured Harrison’s ears and sent a thrill skating over his skin, raising goose bumps.
He frowned at his unwarranted reaction to her voice. Was she employing some kind of royal enchantment on them? But as he glanced at the others, he saw curiosity in their eyes, perhaps even awe. But not attraction. Not one looked like he felt as if his lungs were being squeezed from the inside out.
Her words echoed in the room, ringing with conviction and truth, yet somehow lacking arrogance. She was their prisoner, yet her green eyes revealed no fear. Instead, cunning and intelligence sparkled in those extraordinary eyes. Perhaps even a hint of humor. Was she laughing at them? Were they fools to believe they could capture a rattler and turn it against their enemies without getting struck themselves?
Her wide, well-shaped mouth curled ever so slightly upward as if a smile were indeed about to bloom on her face, and he watched with an anticipation that had chills of another kind sliding over his flesh. His reaction to her wasn’t right, it wasn’t natural.
Her otherness, her Esri-ness, should have repelled him. He knew that.
Yet from the moment he’d set eyes on her, he hadn’t been able to turn away.
Dammit.
He clapped his hands together, desperate to break the spell, shifting the attention back to him. “Let’s get going. D.C.’s crawling with Esri and we need to get back.”
Charlie made a move toward the princess. Harrison’s heart plummeted to his stomach as he remembered the way Kade had gone up in flames at a single touch. Harrison lunged forward. “I’ve got her, Charlie.”
His brother glanced at him, his eyebrow arcing. “She’s tied to the chair.”
“Then I’ll be the one to untie her. I don’t have a death mark.” He didn’t get his brother back only to lose him again, not like that.
Charlie shrugged. “She’s all yours.”
Harrison pushed past his brother and Tarrys. The princess, sitting with her back ramrod straight on the chair, watched him draw near, snagging his gaze—not gently, not kindly. Her eyes, as brilliant as the finest emeralds, bore into his, warning of battle even as they whispered of laughter. And shimmered with heat.
She’d no doubt noticed him staring at her. He steeled himself against this unholy fascination, but as he bent over her shoulder to untie the knot that held her firmly to the chair, the scent of her hair rushed his senses, slamming him with raw desire. She smelled at once exotic and sweet, like gardenias in a tropical garden. The scent drugged him. Intoxicated him.
Hell.
His fingers fumbled with the rope, finally freeing the knot. When he pushed back, straightening, he found her watching him with eyes warm and electric, as if she could feel the hammering of his pulse. As if hers pounded as well.
He tried to look away and failed, mesmerized by her high cheekbones and the perfect shape of her nose. By the curve of her jaw and that lush, ripe mouth that lifted at the corners ever so slightly. Even her skin enthralled him and his fingers itched to know if the pale marble perfection could possibly feel as warm and silken soft as it appeared.
As the blood pounded through his body, his mind recoiled at the turn of his thoughts. She was casting some kind of enchantment over him. There was no other explanation. With more roughness than he’d intended, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, her hands still tied in front of her.
“Let’s go, Princess.”
“No.” To his surprise, she fought him, digging in her heels. That touch of humor had vanished, her eyes snapping with pride and anger. “Free me entirely, human. I’m tired of being bound.”
He met those brilliant eyes, for a moment stumbling into their green depths before he found his footing and steeled himself with his own anger.
“As long as you’re near anyone with a death mark, you’re staying tied.”
“I’m not a fool. I’m not going to harm my allies. Charlie is my way to the stones.”
“He was. Now we all are. I’m thinking you might consider him expendable.”
“And what would you do if I killed him here and now?” Her words cut as she lifted her chin and stared at him.
Ignoring the unfortunate attraction still pounding through his veins, he tightened his grip on her arm, yanking her around until he was fully in her face. “If you harm my brother in any way, the gates be damned. I’ll kill you.”
She nodded calmly. “Which is why I would be a fool to try to harm him. I don’t care that he has a death mark.” One blond eyebrow rose. “I might even be inclined to forgive the mark once I have my stones.”
He stilled. “You can remove death marks?”
“I can, as the rightful queen.”
“Then do it.”
“I need the draggon stone.”
He grunted and turned, dragging her with him toward the door. “Convenient, Princess.”
“You believe I’m lying? The draggon stone answers to royal blood and always has. Within it lies my power.”
“You haven’t had the draggon stone in fifteen centuries. Forgive me for having a hard time believing you’d have left the source of your power with us, where not even your queen could find it.”
She didn’t answer for a moment and when she did her voice was low and subdued. “I did what I had to do.”
He glanced at her,