The Crystal Warrior

The Crystal Warrior (Chapter 3)

He pulled her toward the stairs. She dug in her heels and leaned her weight backward. Another wasted effort, for he merely yanked her off her feet and into his arms.

"Woman, you are a most stubborn creature."

His breath tickled her temple. His arms caged her, holding her tightly. Her body told her exactly how much she liked being in his arms. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.

"I have found there is only one way to deal with stubborn creatures." He heaved her up and over his shoulder, and then proceeded to climb the stairs as though she weighed no more than a small child.

The indignity of hanging head down over someone's shoulder helped Chalcey shake off the haze of sensuality he'd wrapped her in when he'd hauled her close and she'd been plastered against his big hard body. Manhandling her? Again? This was so gonna have to stop. She kicked and thrashed her arms, all the while hollering like a banshee. He patted her rump but otherwise ignored her.

Chalcey had been many things in her life but because of her height and in-your-face cleavage, ignored by men had never been one of them. And she wasn't at all convinced this was a good time for it to start, either. She screamed louder, putting her heart and soul into it.

She generally considered herself of above-average intelligence, too—aside from opening the door without checking who was on the other side first, which was obviously just plain stupid—so when he got halfway up the stairs, she quit struggling. But only because she didn't want him to lose his balance and for them both to take a nasty tumble down the stairs. And by the time he reached the top of the stairwell, she'd concluded that screaming her lungs out wasn't going to do her any good at all, either. Her studio was located in a semi-commercial area, it was excruciatingly early on a Saturday morning, and the chances of anyone hearing her and coming to investigate were practically zilch.

Maybe it was lack of sleep screwing with her judgment, but she decided that despite his superior height and obvious strength, he was relatively harmless. If he'd really wanted to harm her, it made sense he would have done so before going to all the trouble of hauling her kicking and screaming up a steep flight of stairs. Besides, her throat hurt from all the useless screaming.

He shouldered open the door to the studio and halted. She turned her head to one side to watch his reflection in the wall of mirrors. He stood blinking in the bright lights, mouth agape. He turned full circle, slowly, before striding over to examine the mirrors more closely. From the curiosity wrinkling his brow, she would have bet her last dollar that he'd never seen one before.

"Heyyy," she said. "How about I fix up your hand, so you can go back to wherever you came from? How does that sound to you?"

Again she was thoroughly ignored while he reached out to tap the mirror with a fingertip. He turned his attention to the UV lights striping the ceiling. "Mayhap you are a priestess of magic?"

A priestess of what? "They're just lights."

"Lights?"

"Yes, lights. See that switch, there? By the doorway?" She waved a hand in the general direction of the wall-mounted switch. "Press the top button-thingy down and see what happens. Go on, I dare you."

He reached out a tentative hand. Huh. This should be interesting....

He thumbed the light switch, blanketing half the room in darkness. He reared back, his arm tightening about her legs so he didn't drop her. Considerate of him. "That is powerful magic, indeed," he said.

Sheesh. Compared with her recent encounter with Ray-the-Knife, her current situation struck her as way more comical than scary. The laugh bubbling from her lips morphed into an unladylike snort. "I wish I was one of those priestesses of yours. Then I could just turn you into a tadpole, flush you, and crawl back to my comfortable bed. It's a light switch, okay? Nothing special. Every house has one. Just turn it back on."