Page 10 of Helsing: Demon Slayer (The Dragon’s Paladins #1)

He stood, ignoring the twinge in his upper back and the aches in his knuckles.

He’d taken quite a few blows himself, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t experienced before, sometimes on a daily basis.

None of the daemon -possessed dancers had the strength or training of any of the Elioud warriors with whom Ryan trained regularly.

The pain certainly didn’t come anywhere near the gunshot wound he’d earned last June for stepping in to aid Beta against some Russian black-ops goons.

Ryan looked down at Dianne, who sipped the water he’d given her. “As for returning to your cabin, that’s not happening. As soon as we dock in Split, and they let us disembark, we’re getting off this cruise ship from hell.”

Dianne stared at Ryan’s back as he unbuttoned his tattered shirt and slipped it from his arms. Despite the blood and torn clothing, his skin remained perfect and unblemished by bruises and scratches, though she saw old scars reflected in the indirect light of the portable lamp on the desk.

And when she thought perfect , she meant perfect.

Or as close to perfection that a mortal male could achieve that it didn’t matter.

There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. The definition of his muscles, furthermore, seemed more due to actual physical labor than hours in a gym—despite what her friends had said.

There were indecipherable letters scrawled on his upper back over a pair of wings.

And on his left upper arm, a tattoo read “Helsing” in a gothic script over a wooden stake wrapped in a string of heads of garlic and dripping blood.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Dianne recognized that he’d been right about needing the chocolate.

She was starting to feel better and now disbelieved his lurid explanation for the drugged behavior of a bunch of cruise-ship passengers, including herself.

Ecstasy made you highly suggestible. It’s why she’d imagined that woman levitating.

Instead of balking, however, Dianne’s curiosity about Ryan’s tattoo won out over her growing irritation at his highhanded manner.

“Big Bram Stoker fan, are you?” she asked as he pulled a fresh T-shirt over his head to her disappointment.

When Ryan looked over his shoulder towards her, a question on his face, she tilted her head to signify his arm where the tip of the stake and drops of blood showed beneath his shirt sleeve.

He turned towards the refrigerator. Grabbing a bottle of water from it, he said as he shrugged. “Guess so. It’s not every day you read a novel whose protagonist has the same last name as you.” He twisted the cap from the bottle and raised it to his mouth.

“‘Helsing’? That’s your last name?” Dianne’s annoyance eased a notch. “That’s kinda cool.”

He drank half the bottle in one long, powerful gulp. Dianne watched the play of his throat muscles in fascination. Now attraction as well as curiosity warred with her annoyance, perversely making her more annoyed.

“It certainly didn’t hurt to have it as an English major.”

Dianne blinked a few times. She didn’t know what to say to that revelation. “You’re just one surprise after another. Why did you go into the Army?”

She bit into another square of chocolate, finding the lavender strangely compelling. In fact, her headache dissolved as she chewed. She exhaled and shoved the whole square into her mouth. Olivia was a genius. Was there anything she didn’t do well?

Ryan began rummaging around inside his closet as he answered.

“The usual. I wanted to see the world. Eat kebabs. Kill people.” When she scoffed at his answer, he glanced over at her.

“What? Isn’t that what you think soldiers do?

You East-Coast types don’t seem to recognize the call of duty or feelings of patriotism. ”

“What does ‘East-Coast types’ mean?” she asked, a little stung that he’d profiled her and found her wanting. Worse, she knew he was right about her.

He looked at her and shrugged. “Most of the guys I served with came from the Midwest or the South. I assumed that military service isn’t a big thing where you’re from. Admittedly, an induction on my part. I guess we’re both guilty of a little pride and prejudice.”

He turned back to the closet just as Dianne realized that he’d referenced the classic English romance novel by Jane Austen.

“Finish that chocolate. Your sister and her friends have imbued it with special properties to heal and protect you against daemonic attack.” He lifted his own bar and waggled it.

“I prefer the ones with Hungarian paprika.”

Then he toed the chair out from under the small table and sat down before tearing the wrapper open and putting half of the candy into his mouth at once. “I’ll take the chair,” he said after chewing and swallowing, “You take the bed.” It was a clear command.

He shoved the last of the chocolate into his mouth, followed by the last of his water.

He pitched the empty bottle in the trashcan under the desk, before whistling.

The light, which resembled a portable camp lantern, winked out, throwing the cabin into penetrating blackness relieved only by the emergency lighting.

Dianne watched Ryan’s silhouette as it relaxed, her jaw dropping a little.

Well, she wasn’t staying here all night, giving into his delusions.

Maybe he had PTSD or whatever it was that combat veterans came home with that made them think they heard gunshots in the middle of the night.

She narrowed her eyes as she studied him.

He’d also probably never been to a club dancing.

Not that he would have any trouble dominating the dancefloor.

He moved with the grace of a panther. He’d be divine to slow dance with, all that muscle surrounding and protecting his partner.

That thought made Dianne wonder what kind of woman he liked. After all, their dinner together hadn’t exactly been the romantic date she’d envisioned when she asked him. She’d just saved him the effort of approaching her as Olivia’s head of security. She was just his mission.

Despite her rational brain reminding her of this, her irrational brain continued wondering about his romantic life. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Or wife. Somewhere she’d gotten the distinct impression that guys who went into the military often married young.

She shook her head. Never mind that, girlfriend , she admonished herself.

Still, she looked at his hands resting on his waist. Faint light kissed his form, making him look like a being from another world—likely an artifact of the ecstasy on her vision—but no ring gleamed on his left hand.

Dianne finished the unusually tasty chocolate her sister had created and chased it with the bottled water.

She should have felt exhausted, but instead, she felt exhilarated.

Alive, as she hadn’t felt in years, actually.

A fight for her life with a sexy man at her back apparently gave her a thrill that going out to nightclubs or meeting guys on Flrty couldn’t match.

Was it anything like what Olivia felt when she’d met Mihàil?

Dianne glanced at Ryan’s shadowy form again.

What would Olivia do? Insist on leaving?

Then incapacitate the much-larger male when he refused?

Even with her black belt in karate, Olivia wouldn’t be able to overpower Ryan, who was half a foot taller and much heavier.

Dianne might believe that women could compete with men in many arenas, but women kicking men’s butts belonged in superhero movies, not real life.

She’d just have to wait until he fell asleep … .

“Might as well lie down,” said Ryan with his eyes closed. “It’s a long time until sunrise.”

Crossing her arms and huffing, Dianne flopped back onto the bed.

Stop acting like a petulant teen , she told herself. You got yourself into this mess. He might be delusional, but he’s got a chivalry complex. There are worse things in life.

At that thought, an image of the teenaged boy caught by the two men at the dance party rose in Dianne’s memory. She shuddered. Why had she imagined that? Was there something perverse in her that wanted to see such acts?

The next thing Dianne knew, voices on the deck outside the cabin woke her. For a moment, she forgot where she was and stretched. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt better.

“We’re docked,” said a voice, startling Dianne. “That means we can disembark soon.”

Dianne rolled over and sat up. Ryan, dressed in a form-fitting black T-shirt and black cargo pants, stood not far from the end of the bed in his cabin. He wore a massive backpack and a serious expression. In his right hand he clutched wadded fabric.

Dianne frowned. The events of the previous night had faded into a vague, slightly ridiculous dream.

She raised both hands to her face, gingerly touching her right eye, which had been swollen shut last night.

Then she ran her fingers through her tangled hair along her scalp.

No tenderness or stinging resulted, but she did feel a bald spot behind her left ear.

Her right knee still hurt, though she was more certain it was only a bad sprain.

Even her shoulder felt okay, though she’d know more when she took off the sling.

“Your injuries are largely healed,” said Ryan, watching her.

“As I said last night, the chocolate that the zonje and her companions developed is restorative. They’ve actually been engineered with bio nanoparticles that fix damage at a cellular level.

But we should still have your shoulder and your knee x-rayed to be sure. ”

Dianne’s jaw fell open. She let her hands drop to her lap. “Since when has Olivia studied bio-nano-whatsit?”

Ryan shrugged. “Dunno. You can ask her when we get to Fushe-Arrez. Here, put this on.” He tossed the fabric he’d been holding at her. “It’s been woven with harmonically tuned nanothreads to defend against daemon attack. Once you put it on, the nanothreads will be keyed to your personal harmonics.”

Dianne, who’d caught the item while Ryan spoke, held it up now. It was a diaphanous, white, long-sleeved tunic long-enough to reach her ankles. It didn’t look like it could stop a hangnail let alone a drugged harpy with the strength of three men.

“I’m going back to my cabin,” she said, dropping the translucent garment on the bed and standing. She squared her shoulders. “Now.”

Something changed in Ryan’s features at her declaration, something indefinable. He simply looked even more chiseled from granite, and his eyes turned frosty.

“No. You can put that tunic on by yourself or I’ll put it on you.” He took a step toward the bed and her. “You can either come with me on your own or I’ll carry you. Your choice. Either way, we’re getting off this ship now.”

The coldness in his tone sent a shiver of premonition down Dianne’s spine. Despite this, she lifted her chin and held her ground. “You can’t carry me off the gangplank. The security officers will stop you.”

Ryan tilted his head. “Are you sure about that?” he asked in a soft, menacing voice.