His Darkest Salvation (Jaguar Warriors 3)

“Castille.” The hoarse voice belonged to Declan O’Hara.

“You sound like shit,” Julian answered as he sped along the highway that led to a private airstrip outside of town. He’d managed to get that much info from Jaden before she passed out.

“You have any visitors?” Declan asked.

Julian’s lips thinned. “A couple.”

He continued to navigate the roads, his senses still aflame from the threat of danger that lurked beyond the darkness.

“Yeah, me too. I have a feeling our little vacation from hell ain’t exactly gonna be restful.” The heavy sarcasm was noted.

“I’ve got Jaden DaCosta with me.”

Long moments of silence greeted his words. Julian exited the highway and headed toward the private tarmac at the small airport. He saw several jets in the distance, but the black-and-gold one screamed DaCosta.

“You still there?” he asked as he turned to the left and drove through security with no issues at all. He shook his head. Had 9/11 not taught them anything?

“Yeah, I’m just trying to shake the whole déjà vu thing. Wasn’t too long ago your brother called me about finding Libby. No offense, but life pretty much went to hell after that. Like literally.” The Irishman paused, and Julian could hear the wheels turning.

“She dead?”

“Not yet.” Julian’s voice was dry, and he glanced toward the unconscious woman. Though that would change. Very soon.

“Again, the déjà vu thing. Care to explain?”

Julian pulled up alongside the large plane. “No. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Just don’t—”

But Declan’s words were lost as Julian pocketed the cell. He exited the truck and opened the passenger-side door. Jaden’s eyes flickered open, and she grimaced as his arms slipped underneath her body once more.

They were glassy, and her pupils were so large her eyes appeared to be solid black pools of velvet. He admired her strength but didn’t know how much longer she could last.

The jet was running, and the steps were lowered. It was adorned with the DaCosta crest, which was woven underneath, NIGHT SKY RESORT AND CASINO. He vaguely recalled something about hotels in Mexico and the DaCostas.

Carefully, he made his way up and ducked his tall frame through the narrow entrance. His senses rode the wind, and as far as he could tell, he was alone; but he knew that didn’t mean a thing.

He proceeded with caution, expecting the worst.

The jet was large, luxurious, and surprisingly tasteful in both décor and furnishings. Gently, he laid Jaden on the nearest chaise, propping her head against a soft cushion.

“In the cupboard,” Jaden whispered, her voice so faint he barely heard her. She motioned toward a large bank of cabinets that lined the far side of the cabin, and he looked at her, not understanding.

“Antidote,” she managed. “Hurry.”

Antidote? Since when?

Julian hesitated, and she glared up at him, wincing in pain as she rasped, “Are you trying to kill me?”

He crossed over to the cupboards, yanked them open, and was taken aback at the interesting array of weaponry displayed. Several firearms were stored there, as well as daggers, and an interesting-looking bow. He spied a container of vials and grabbed one. The shelves were labeled with some long weird word that he didn’t understand, but underneath it one stood out boldly and it was one that he did know, DEMON.

He ripped the cap off and returned to Jaden, feeling that spark of respect and admiration jump again as he watched her struggle to a sitting position. The woman had balls. He’d give her that.

He held it to her lips, and as her fingers intertwined with his, and she gulped the potion, he couldn’t ignore the emotion that pummeled his chest. He didn’t know what the hell it was, but it felt so much better than what he’d been used to for the last while—pain and nothing.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as her head collapsed against the cushion. Her long, elegant neck was fully exposed, and as her breathing returned to normal, he was fascinated by the clan tattoos that crept up her skin.

They were beautiful, exotic, and his hands found their way to her flesh without thought.