crushing his skull. His arm throbbing and his fingers bordering on numb, Ian scowled at his partner. "Son of a bitch, Ryland. What the hell was that?"
Ryland shrugged, his eyes a bottomless pit of anger and violence. "We don't have time for you to lose your shit over a woman. I figured that saving your own life would get your priorities back in line." He cocked an eyebrow. "You feeling better now? You look better. Not so sweaty and weepy."
"I'm not weepy." Adrenaline racing through him, Ian leapt to his feet and slammed his fist on Ry's shoulder. "Thanks, man."
"My pleasure. Always happy to help. Kinda enjoyed trying to kill you, to be honest."
Ian eyed his teammate. "Dude, you're so fucked."
"Tell me something I don't know." Ry raised his brows. "You gotta ditch that curse, though, Fitz. You won't always have me around to try to take you out and trigger those self-preservation instincts."
"The curse can go to hell." But Ian knew it wouldn't. The curse was an unstoppable, persistent little bugger. It was irreversible, except by Warwick Cardiff, the black magic wizard who'd tossed the curse at his family in the first place. The spell had dragged every one of his ancestors into the grave, their will to live destroyed by the loss of the women they loved.
For six hundred years, Ian had fended off the need to slit his own throat, and he wasn't going to start sticking his fingers in electric sockets just because he'd finally found the woman his soul was meant to connect with. Yeah, he wanted her. Yeah, he needed her. Yeah, he was completely at her mercy every time she turned those green eyes in his direction. So what?
It was time to man-up and be the emotional island he was meant to be. Ian fought down his need for her and his connection to her. He called upon the survival tools that his father had taught him to keep from becoming too emotionally connected with any woman.
Regret and loss filling him even as he did it, Ian blocked from his mind the desperate need in Alice's green eyes, the softness of her skin beneath his palms, the beauty of her kisses that had awakened in him something that he hadn't dared access his whole life. Resistance surged through him as he tried to separate himself from her, a desperate need to keep the connection with her open, to carve every memory of her onto his soul forever.
Shit! It wasn't working. Why in the hell did she have to be so damned addictive?
He had to be like his father, before he'd finally succumbed. He had to shut her out. Ian looked down at the ring on his left index finger. He was wearing his father's signet ring, which was decorated with the Fitzgerald family crest and emblazoned with the symbol of the Order of the Blade. Their mission was to save the world from rogue Calydons, warriors who had turned their immense power against innocents. No one else would ever fall victim to the Order, no one but rogue warriors, but against them, the Order was ruthless. They had to be. The lives of many depended on the Order's ability and willingness to sacrifice a single life.
Ian took a deep breath, drawing his shoulders back as he allowed the significance of the black onyx ring to settle over him. After six hundred years of keeping it locked away because he hadn't earned the right to wear it, Ian had finally put it on a month ago. Remembering his debt of honor had been the only thing that had enabled him to survive Alice's death the last time.
And now, he needed it to survive her being alive, because it was a hell of a lot harder to keep himself distant from her when he could feel her very soul with every breath he took. Shit.
He'd thought finding her would be his key to staying alive. He'd figured that his instinct to protect her would give him enough incentive to fight off the curse because he couldn't wave his manly weapons and beat down her assailants if he were lying belly up in a graveyard.
Yeah, well, that plan had worked out great. He'd managed to find her, but as it turned
Ryland shrugged, his eyes a bottomless pit of anger and violence. "We don't have time for you to lose your shit over a woman. I figured that saving your own life would get your priorities back in line." He cocked an eyebrow. "You feeling better now? You look better. Not so sweaty and weepy."
"I'm not weepy." Adrenaline racing through him, Ian leapt to his feet and slammed his fist on Ry's shoulder. "Thanks, man."
"My pleasure. Always happy to help. Kinda enjoyed trying to kill you, to be honest."
Ian eyed his teammate. "Dude, you're so fucked."
"Tell me something I don't know." Ry raised his brows. "You gotta ditch that curse, though, Fitz. You won't always have me around to try to take you out and trigger those self-preservation instincts."
"The curse can go to hell." But Ian knew it wouldn't. The curse was an unstoppable, persistent little bugger. It was irreversible, except by Warwick Cardiff, the black magic wizard who'd tossed the curse at his family in the first place. The spell had dragged every one of his ancestors into the grave, their will to live destroyed by the loss of the women they loved.
For six hundred years, Ian had fended off the need to slit his own throat, and he wasn't going to start sticking his fingers in electric sockets just because he'd finally found the woman his soul was meant to connect with. Yeah, he wanted her. Yeah, he needed her. Yeah, he was completely at her mercy every time she turned those green eyes in his direction. So what?
It was time to man-up and be the emotional island he was meant to be. Ian fought down his need for her and his connection to her. He called upon the survival tools that his father had taught him to keep from becoming too emotionally connected with any woman.
Regret and loss filling him even as he did it, Ian blocked from his mind the desperate need in Alice's green eyes, the softness of her skin beneath his palms, the beauty of her kisses that had awakened in him something that he hadn't dared access his whole life. Resistance surged through him as he tried to separate himself from her, a desperate need to keep the connection with her open, to carve every memory of her onto his soul forever.
Shit! It wasn't working. Why in the hell did she have to be so damned addictive?
He had to be like his father, before he'd finally succumbed. He had to shut her out. Ian looked down at the ring on his left index finger. He was wearing his father's signet ring, which was decorated with the Fitzgerald family crest and emblazoned with the symbol of the Order of the Blade. Their mission was to save the world from rogue Calydons, warriors who had turned their immense power against innocents. No one else would ever fall victim to the Order, no one but rogue warriors, but against them, the Order was ruthless. They had to be. The lives of many depended on the Order's ability and willingness to sacrifice a single life.
Ian took a deep breath, drawing his shoulders back as he allowed the significance of the black onyx ring to settle over him. After six hundred years of keeping it locked away because he hadn't earned the right to wear it, Ian had finally put it on a month ago. Remembering his debt of honor had been the only thing that had enabled him to survive Alice's death the last time.
And now, he needed it to survive her being alive, because it was a hell of a lot harder to keep himself distant from her when he could feel her very soul with every breath he took. Shit.
He'd thought finding her would be his key to staying alive. He'd figured that his instinct to protect her would give him enough incentive to fight off the curse because he couldn't wave his manly weapons and beat down her assailants if he were lying belly up in a graveyard.
Yeah, well, that plan had worked out great. He'd managed to find her, but as it turned
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