Captive of the Beast

  CAPTIVE OF THE BEAST

  LISA RENEE JONES

  Copyright 2017 by Julie Patra Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Dear Reader,

  I am excited to bring you Rinehart’s story—he is a Knight of White some of you will remember from past stories. Rinehart is a real hero of heroes: a military man who has lived a life devoted to protecting others; a loner who has felt the pain of loss and doesn’t intend to experience it again. But love has a funny way of finding you when you least expect it. He’s about to meet his match in Laura Johnson. And look out, sparks are about to fly.

  The heroine in this story, Laura Johnson, is quite the loner herself, but with good reason. She isn’t like everyone around her. Not only can she read people’s emotions, she can move things with her mind; both are abilities that force her into a life shrouded with secrecy and danger. When demons set their sights on using her for their own gain, she must learn to embrace her abilities, and to trust Rinehart if she is to survive.

  Captive of the Beast is a story about overcoming our insecurities, a story of personal discovery, of learning to see beyond insecurities to embrace life and become stronger in the process. Happy reading!

  Lisa Renee Jones

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Moonlight glinted off the sword Rinehart masterfully swept through the neck of the Demon foot soldier, a Darkland Beast. A second later, the beastly body lit up in flames and dissolved into ash.

  Around him, his fellow Knights, Des, Max and Rock—brothers not by blood but by oath and by choice—challenged their opponents, as well. A quick inspection told him his battles were complete; he was not needed. Disappointed, Rinehart sheathed his saber.

  Normally, a night spent fighting by his brothers’ side fed his primal urges and calmed the darkness within. But not tonight. Not any night as of late. No matter how many Beasts he slew, he could not defeat the one inside himself.

  Rinehart, Knight of White, was slipping into darkness and he knew it. Fortunately, no one around him did.

  He started walking toward the van, eyeing the horizon, hoping for more battles, for more fuel to fight the war raging inside him. But there were no more Beasts this night. No more distractions from the turmoil that ate at his tainted soul. For now, he had to settle for his usual game of charades, of pretending he was fine, that he was made of steel.

  Born into a military family, he’d learned from walking age how a soldier held himself in check, how to school his features into that steel mask. Like any lifetime soldier, he didn’t have a name. Just an initial. In his case, the initial W had represented his birth name of William. But he was simply Rinehart now—would be forevermore. His immortality, the result of being converted to a Knight, had allowed him ninety-five years to practice this hard exterior, his shell of unaffected solidarity among the Knights.

  The Knights were once all human; they were converted to Demons by the Beasts before being saved by Salvador, their creator. But the taint of evil still played inside them all, still clung to the souls that Salvador had returned to each of them, and without their mates, the pure ones who would counter the taint of the Beast, they would eventually be destroyed by it. Some survived longer than others without a mate. No one knew why that was. Rinehart could hear the clock ticking in his head. He was certain he would be one of those men going down sooner rather than later, and he hated that weakness inside himself.

  But it was there, burning him up, claiming him.

  He had to find a way to control it before it was too late.

  An hour after leaving the battlefield behind, the Knights’ van pulled to a halt in front of Jaguar Ranch, the central operations facility for the Knights of White. To the rest of the world, it was simply one of the largest ranches in the world at fifteen thousand acres. Sitting just outside Brownsville, Texas, the ranch often spawned rumors of Demon hunters living within its confines. Usually these stories surfaced when the myths of Matamoras monsters were raging hot, and rightfully so. Those stories were true, of course, and the monsters were, in fact, Demons.

  Rinehart shoved open the back door of the van and jumped to the graveled driveway in front of the main house. His fellow Knights, Des and Rock, followed behind him. Max, who had been driving, rounded the front of the van just as his mate, Sarah, ran down the front stairs to greet him. Next came Jessica, who rushed toward Des, her mate. Rinehart ground his teeth and shoved his cowboy hat low over his eyes. He was happy as hell for brothers finding their mates. It simply ground home a hard core truth that didn’t sit well right about now. He wasn’t likely to find a mate before Hell found him.

  Marisol, their healer, stepped out onto the porch, as she always did upon their return. With one touch, she could heal their wounds. Fortunately, tonight no one needed her. Well, almost no one. Rock had it bad for Marisol. And judging from the puppy-dog eyes he was casting in her direction, he was feeling the attraction now. The way the kid responded to Marisol, Rinehart wondered if she were his mate. A damnable situation, considering healers weren’t allowed physical pleasures. They were another breed, one the Knights knew little about. But they knew the rule: no touching. That meant no peace for Rock. Not now. Not ever. If Marisol were his mate, something had to change or Rock would be destined for darkness.

  On that note, Rinehart decided he and the kid needed some extra exertion. “Don’t know about you,” Rinehart said, stepping to his side, “but I could go for some more hunting. This time, for some female company. What say we head to town?”

  Rock cut his gaze from Marisol, his lips tight, his expression strained. “Hell, yeah, man. I’m down for that. Let’s roll.”

  There had been a time not so long ago when he would have acted like other women were taboo. But Marisol had been shutting him out lately, and he’d stopped fighting his needs.

  Their leader, Jag, pushed open the screen door and joined Marisol on the porch. Tall and broad, his dark hair touching his shoulders, Jag charged the air with the force of his presence. With each passing day since Jag had found his mate, he seemed to grow more powerful, more gifted with magic. Though each Knight who mated had found he wielded new powers, Jag, being leader, wielded far more than any of them had imagined possible.

  Max had started toward the house, and Rinehart called after him. “Max, man,” he shouted. “Toss me the keys.” The keys flew through the air, and Rinehart captured them in his palm, preparing to depart.

  “Not so fast, Rinehart,” Jag called out, sauntering toward him.

  Rinehart rested his weight on his back leg and waited for Jag’s approach. For some reason, a warning flared in his gut and adrenaline rushed through his body, his heart thrumming wickedly against his breastbone. He kept his expression nonchalant as Jag stopped in fr
ont of him. “What’s cookin’, boss?”

  “A woman in need,” Jag commented, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his assessing gaze settling on Rinehart’s face. “A woman with gifts the Beasts plan to exploit. She and a small group of humans she considers family are being held captive on an island off the Gulf of Mexico. Your assignment is to extract her and her people, and bring them here where we can protect them.” His voice lifted with a hint of urgency. “You up to the challenge?”

  Rinehart almost laughed at that. When was he not up to the challenge? A slow grin touched his lips, his blood heating with the thrill of danger. “I’m her man.”

  “You better be,” Jag said. “Because you’re to extract her from the hands of the Beasts at all costs.” He repeated the words with emphasis. “All costs. I’ll deal with any fallout.” He scrubbed his jaw, obviously bothered by the order he’d just given. The sound of Jag’s mate, Karen, calling his name floated across the air. “There’s a detailed file waiting for you in your room.” Jag turned with the words, ending the conversation with the finality of his departure as he headed toward the house.

  Rinehart stood there, watching their leader walk away. If he’d read the story between the lines correctly—and he was pretty damn sure he had—Jag had just ordered him to bring back this woman, dead or alive, to potentially break one of those golden rules: Thou shall not kill a human.

  Rinehart felt another rush of adrenaline chase blood through his veins, felt a chill race up his spine despite the hundred-degree-plus humidity. Who the hell was this woman? Or rather, who was she going to be if he didn’t save her? He drew a breath and started walking, an urgency to see that file setting his heels on fire. Whoever, or whatever, this woman may be now or in the future, she had become his responsibility. A responsibility he would not fail—one way or the other.

  Chapter 1

  Dr. Laura Johnson had a secret. She was different, able to manipulate objects with her mind, able to read people’s emotions, and sense danger and tragedy before they became reality.

  Her parents had always thought that hiding her abilities was for the best. They’d warned her that there were people who would be greedy and power hungry, people who would be enticed to misuse the power behind her secret. And now, fifteen years later, both her parents having passed on, she still remembered their words, understood them, lived the truth they held.

  Hiding those abilities had become second nature. In fact, her research exposed her to others like herself, people with similar gifts, and still she remained silent. She knew it was the right choice. Pretending to be no different than everyone else around her was as much a part of each day as brushing her teeth and having morning coffee with her favorite vanilla creamer. Sometimes she even convinced herself it was true, that she was like everyone else.

  Staring out the window of the government lab off the Texas coast where she’d been working the past two years, she watched the ocean crash against the rocks of the secluded island facility. It was eight in the morning, and she’d been up well before sunrise, unable to sleep. Every nerve ending in her body was raw, frazzled, and she didn’t know why. Her instincts screamed with warnings, with a promise of danger. With the promise of her secret exposed.

  She struggled with why she was feeling such a thing. She had felt unease for a while now, ever since Captain Walch had taken over the island’s operations six months before. The man wasn’t a good person. Not even close. He’d use her patients for the wrong things with a snap of the fingers; in fact, several times now he’d hinted at the power that duplicating their skills could wield. But Walch wasn’t the cause of this uneasiness. Her instincts tingled with a warning like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The word malice leapt into her mind as if part of some warning system that her instincts had set off. And considering her instincts were uniquely accurate, she trusted them.

  Behind her, the lab door opened and closed, and Laura turned to find her favorite patient, a firestarter named Kresley, walking toward her. With red hair several shades lighter than Laura’s dark auburn coloring, Kresley drew fast attention whenever she walked into a room. Her striking blue eyes and waiflike figure reminded Laura of a sea nymph from a fairy tale.

  Kresley was the only patient Laura had brought with her to the island. Now a woman of twenty, the young girl had become close to Laura’s heart. After Kresley’s parents had turned away from her, treating her as if she were a freak, Laura had taken her into her home.

  “What in the world are you doing up so early?” Laura asked, knowing how fitfully Kresley slept most nights.

  Kresley smiled. “I had a bad dream last night.”

  In her present state of unease, Laura wouldn’t have thought she could laugh, but she did. “Most people don’t smile over a bad dream, you know, but since the alarms in your room didn’t go off, I assume that can mean only one thing.”

  “Yep,” Kresley said, nodding. “I had a nightmare and didn’t start a fire. I’m controlling my power even in my sleep.”

  “Wonderful!” Laura said. She moved forward and hugged Kresley, pleased she’d called her firestarting ability a power rather than a curse, as she often did. Maybe it was hypocritical, considering how she felt about her own abilities, but Laura had grown up with something that had given her the confidence these kids didn’t have—parents who loved her, parents who made sure she knew she mattered and, although she had to be secretive about her powers, she was special to them.

  While working for the University of Texas, Laura had discovered the genetic marker that created certain people’s gifts, or powers. Once that discovery had been published, she’d been invited to the island to help a group of people with problems similar to Kresley’s—they couldn’t control their powers. And now, two years later, Laura had finally found the missing piece of the puzzle and created a retrovirus correction. Thankfully, it appeared to be working.

  Laura had inherited four other patients when she’d come to the island, all kept locked away like animals. They were prisoners because they lacked control over their gifts. She suspected they would all love a little trip off the island.

  She was starting to tell Kresley this wish when the door opened, and Captain Walch appeared in the entryway. Tall, with a muscular build and dark hair, Walch wore stiffly pressed, army-green dress pants and a white button-down shirt sturdy enough to display medals. His dark hair was cut short, his cheekbones were high and sharp, his nose long and pointed. As usual, his face was emotionless, even militant. Except for his eyes—they raked over Laura with a lusty inspection.

  His gaze narrowed on Kresley and then refocused on Laura. “We need to talk,” he said.

  Obviously he wasn’t keen on small talk on Kresley’s behalf. Not that he ever was. “Alone,” he added.

  Laura turned to Kresley. “I’ll meet you in the coffee shop in a few minutes.”

  Kresley hesitated, protectiveness flashing in her blue eyes. The two of them were close, and Kresley knew how much Laura hated being alone with Walch. “It’s okay,” Laura assured her. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” Kresley nodded and headed for the door, never glancing at Walch again.

  Laura crossed her arms in front of her body, wishing for her lab coat—anything to cover her black dress. Not that the simple shell of a dress was anything but conservative, but Walch had a way of making her feel naked.

  The door shut behind Kresley before either of them spoke. “You seem edgy, Laura,” Walch commented. “Something on your mind?”

  Laura felt more than edgy—she felt defensive for no good reason. “Actually, yes,” she said, forcing herself to seize the opportunity. She knew Walch: he’d make whatever point he had come there to make and then dart away. She needed to be aggressive. “I think it’s time to test the patients’ control. A trip off the island would allow me to see how they respond to real-world stimulations.”

  His response came fast—too fast, in fact. “You’re feeling good about your progress, then?”

  Why d
id this feel like a trick question? “It’s moving along well,” she agreed cautiously, “but they still need regular injections to maintain the corrections I’ve made.”

  “There won’t be a trip right now. Not anytime soon, for that matter. I have a team of researchers joining you later this week. They’ve shown me enough documentation to convince me they can clone your patients’ gifts in others. As I’ve mentioned on several occasions, the military finds this concept intriguing. More than intriguing—it’s an absolute necessity. This will happen. We expect it to happen.”

  She drew in a surprised breath. Visitors? A research team? No wonder she was on edge. “I didn’t sign up for this. That’s not what I’m here for.”

  He seemed unaffected by her response, in fact, was prepared for it. “If you want to continue receiving the funding and resources to complete your work, you’ll make this happen.”

  “Is that a threat?” she demanded.

  “Call it what you want, but we both know this is the next logical step in your work. We need to do this before someone else does. Our men must be the most deadly, the most well equipped.”

  “By creating weapons of war,” she said. “I won’t do it. I came to help these people, not to fight wars. That’s your job, not mine.”

  “You came here because you wanted our money and resources. You have all the resources you could dream of here and a chance to be a part of changing the world. Fix them while you help us. Think about what the next step in your research can mean to the future. It’s not about creating war—it’s about eliminating it.” His expression turned intense, emotion actually evident for once—emotion laced with hunger and greed. “When one opponent is the strongest, the others don’t fight. They don’t dare. You will be creating peace.”

  She stared at him, swallowing hard. He was different from before. Darker. Evil seemed to cling to him, a second skin. She could feel it, primal, potent.