The Challenge.

Rystani Warrior.

by Susan Kearney.

Dedication.

For Mom, in loving Memory. You were the best!.

Dear Reader,

Sometimes it takes years to make a dream become a reality or to turn an idea into a book. I wish I could tell you the process was easy. It wasn't. I wish I could say that I never received a rejection, but I could have wallpapered my bathroom with all those rejections. I wish I could have told you I sold the first book I ever wrote-well I did . . . sort of.

The Challenge was completed in 1992. However, at the time, publishers weren't buying sexy, paranormal romances. I could claim I was ahead of my time, but the truth was that to tell this story I had to hone my craft. After selling thirty-eight books to New York publishers, I finally sold the first story I ever wrote. The Challenge went into multiple printings and led to the Rystani Warrior Series, The Challenge, The Dare, The Ultimatum and The Quest.

The Rystani Warriors are special to me, not just because they were alpha warriors who fell in love with smart, sexy women, but because I could finally write my favorite kind of romance-stories set in the future. I'm happy to tell you that I've tweaked the books and the Rystani Series is once again back in print as well as available digitally.

Eventually, I hope to have all my stories available online.

Best, Susan Kearney.

Prologue.

"GUN! Brown trench coat at two o'clock. Five yards." Tessa Camen, SAIC, special agent in charge, spoke clearly into her microphone, pinpointing the threat. It figured today had to be the day someone came after the president. But nobody was going to take out POTUS on her watch. No way in hell.

Tessa observed the counter sniper team on the roof zeroing-in on the shooter. Uniformed division officers dispersed through the crowd.

If only she had more time to remove the president from the danger. But instinct told Tessa that she had only split seconds to act.

Tessa uncoiled her bunched thigh muscles. Launching her body, twisting in the air, she tackled the president, covering the short politician's body with her own.

They went down hard. Rolled behind the podium for cover. The president let out a gasp.

At least the president was still breathing. So far, so good.

The audience screamed and stampeded, creating a rioting mass exodus. Cries became wails as people bolted for the exits.

Tessa drew her Sig Sauer P229 from the holster, crawled over the president's body, and positioned her torso between the shooter and the president. POTUS was not going to die. Not today. Not on Tessa's detail.

Shots blasted, the noise deafening, the reek of gunpowder strong and bitter. Bullets raked the stage, shattering lights, shredding the curtains. Agents returned fire. The podium splintered into bits of wood. The audience bolted through smoke that clung like a shroud.

Shards of concrete stung Tessa's face, neck, and hands. She blinked the blood from her eyes. "You hit, Madam President?"

"I don't . . ." The supreme commander's face was pale, her eyes wide with shock. But no blood. Only superficial scratches.

Safe. The satisfying thought offered Tessa only a measure of relief. "Stay still. I'll be getting you out of here shortly."

Tessa looked up. Fellow agents had closed on the assassin, pinning him down. Within seconds, the command she'd been expecting came through her earpiece. "Get POTUS away."

She grabbed the president's upper arm. "POTUS rolling."

Half yanking, half carrying the president, Tessa zigzagged to the limo. From the disarray of panicking citizens, scurrying police, and busy Secret Service Agents, two well-dressed dark-haired men, stepped between POTUS and the limo. In contrast to the panicky rushing of everyone else, their movements were slow, deliberate, menacing. Trouble.

Tessa shoved the president behind her then shouted, "Get out of the way."

As if they'd been choreographed to move as one, Mr. Trench Coat raised his gun. Mr. Calm as Ice advanced from her right. Years of training at the firing range and thousands of hours honing her martial arts skills allowed Tessa to react automatically. She took out Mr. Trench Coat with a head shot. As Mr. Calm As Ice aimed at the president, Tessa round house kicked, and her foot connected with his shoulder. He grunted, dropped his weapon, and stumbled into her with a wild lunge that knocked her gun from her hand.

Tessa followed up with an elbow that cracked his rib. He grunted, bent over in pain, reached for a backup gun at his ankle.

"No you don't." Lunging forward, she slammed her knee into his face so hard his head snapped back.

A less muscular man's neck would have broken. With another roar, he shook off her blow. He came at her again, this time more cautiously. Circling right, Tessa kept her body between him and the president.

When the guy advanced, leading with a strong right punch to her face, Tessa blocked and countered with multiple strikes to the knee and throat, softening him up before administering the death blow to the temple.

Tessa didn't wait for his body to hit the ground before she scooped up her weapon, once again grabbing the president. POTUS's limo squealed to a stop beside them. Tessa opened the door, shoved her charge into a prone position across the back seat.

Tessa slammed the door behind them and dived on top of her. "Go. Go. Go. Get us the hell out of here."

The driver burned rubber, and the vehicle sped forward. Up ahead, a police siren blared. While they might not have the entire PPD, presidential protective detail, with them, at least they weren't entirely alone, either.

Tessa released the breath she'd been holding and spoke through her microphone to the Deputy Director, reporting a break in security that left POTUS vulnerable to attack. "We don't have the full PPD."

"Underst-" Her radio went dead.

Oh, God. They were cut off from command. One thought came to mind and iced her blood. POTUS was now her responsibility alone.

Tessa angled her head, peering over the seat and dash. Up front, a black and white led the way, lights on, sirens shrieking.

Behind them, a tan sedan that was not part of their detail followed. When they changed lanes, so did the sedan. "We've picked up a tail."

She needed backup, but with her microphone dead, she couldn't call her detail. Think.

"Madame President, do you have a cell phone?"

She shook her head. "It was in my purse. I left it on the podium." The president picked up the car's phone and frowned. "Dead."

"Sabotaged," Tessa muttered. "Madam President, please strap on your seat belt."

Damn. Damn. Damn. Tessa didn't need her sweaty palms and ragged nerves to tell her that the president had been purposely isolated. Made vulnerable.

"Speed up. Lose the tail," Tessa ordered the driver.

He did the opposite, jamming on his breaks, bringing the car to a screeching halt on the highway's shoulder. Oh My God! Another betrayal.

At the sudden stop, the president yelped in surprise. The car's momentum whiplashed Tessa forward then back against the seat. Her hand smacked the door. She dropped her weapon, and it slid under the seat. Ears ringing, vision blurred, she scrambled for her gun.

Tessa's fingers closed on her weapon, but the chauffeur had his fully drawn. Cocked. Aimed at the president.

No way could the traitor miss.

Tessa didn't hesitate. Muscles already contracted, she dived into the direct line of fire. At the same time, she raised her gun.

Too slow.

Too late.

Chapter One.

"HAVE I DIED and gone to heaven?" Tessa muttered.

Without opening her eyes, she could feel heat permeating the deep chill that stole her energy as if she'd been frozen. Except for shivers and the tingling that slowly returned feeling to her numb limbs, there was no pain. No gunshot wound.

Just wondrous heat, like the touch of sun-kissed virile flesh. Toned, smooth skin sharing blessed warmth, rocking her. No, carrying her? A large gentle hand smoothed her hair from her forehead, and a deep masculine voice assured her that she would soon be warm.

"You will recover."

Expecting the dream to fade, expecting to see a hospital room, a doctor, beeping machines, Tessa delayed opening her eyes. She didn't want to face her fellow agents who would tell her the sad news that she'd failed her assignment and that the president was dead.

But she'd never been one to hide from reality. Tessa forced open her eyes.

Instead of a hospital room and her detail, she found herself in a space she didn't recognize, alone with a stranger, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Her gaze locked stares with the amber eyes of a dark-haired giant, her hand curled intimately under the vest that didn't fully cover his broad chest.

A bare chest? She must be hallucinating. Out of her head from painkillers, the result of a bullet ricocheting through her skull.

She blinked, expecting him to vanish. He didn't.

Okay. He was real. Seriously real. Or she was crazy. She preferred the first option, but did a double check. Beneath her hand, his heart beat with disturbing regularity, and her fingers had somehow twisted around his crisp chest hair. She took a deep breath, and his scent reminded her of exotic spices and sandalwood soap.

He might be a dream man, but he was no fantasy. He was quite the living, breathing alpha male, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. No woman in her right mind could fail to appreciate such a gorgeous specimen. Yet no human naturally possessed eyes the color of his Tupelo-honey ones, the irises ringed with fiery gold, and framed by a perfect crescent of thick black lashes. He sported a strong nose, a square jaw that suggested stubbornness, carved cheekbones of a highborn savage, and flawless bronze skin of a hue that could knock a woman flat on her heels for a second look.

His generous mouth curled with a touch of sympathy, and yet his eyes shot off hints of irritation and impatience. "Are you warm?"

Hell, no.

She was cold, already craving a scalding cup of coffee. And naked. Naked in the strange man's arms. In a room that resembled no hospital she'd ever seen, he laid down with her on a shimmering metallic platform.

Had she been taken hostage? Where the hell was she?

Before waking up in his arms, she'd leapt between a traitorous Secret Service Agent and POTUS. She recalled the driver's betrayal. Was this man or his group holding the president, too?

Tessa suspected she was a prisoner, kept naked to make her feel vulnerable. Or had she somehow ended up in a sanatorium? But then where was her hospital gown? Where were her clothes and her gun? Her detail?

She tried to speak, but her dry throat only issued a weak croak.

The stranger briskly rubbed her arms, creating a friction that heated her numbed limbs. As he tended her, Tessa searched for an exit in the shimmering silver walls, floor, and ceiling, all bare of any adornments and constructed of an unrecognizable luminous gray substance that made her question her eyesight. During her years in foster homes, she'd seen some strange decor but nothing like the other-worldly walls that surrounded her.

She must be hallucinating.

But when she held up her hand that he'd finished rubbing, she clearly counted four fingers and one thumb. And the hunk was still there, watching her with those strange eyes, efficiently and briskly rubbing her other arm. Even into adulthood, she'd had nightmares of abandonment, of losing her parents and her home-but she'd never had a dream this weird.

Again, she tried to speak but managed only a soft grunt.

He picked up an odd-shaped vessel and held it to her lips. "Drink."

She peered suspiciously at what appeared to be water. Hell, if he wanted to drug her, in her weakened state, he'd have no trouble. She parted her lips voluntarily.

Cool water slid down her parched throat. Greedily she emptied the vessel, and refreshed, her mind kept working. Where was she? What had happened to the president? Why had this stranger carried her? What was going on? Why was she so stiff? Her vocal cords so rusty?

As badly as she longed to ask questions, she followed training protocol. For fear that she might help the enemy, she didn't ask her first questions out loud.

Think.

Assess the situation.

Gather information.

She forced out words that wouldn't betray anyone. "Who are you?"

He'd moved those large, capable hands to her icy feet. "My name is Kahn."

Of course his voice was as rich as Tupelo honey, warm and silky, but she ignored his stunning masculinity. The hard line of his jaw, his broad shoulders and eyes that watched her with smoldering intensity. Analyze. He'd answered her simply, with no embellishment, almost as if he expected her to panic if he said too much. She might be frightened, but she was too well trained to let her feelings, any feelings, overrule her good sense.

She pulled her foot from the stranger's hands, uncomfortable with the intimacy of his touch. Off kilter, she breathed deeply, but even the air didn't smell normal here. Her body felt too heavy. Each breath took extra effort. Keeping calm was all very well, but suppose her good sense told her the correct reaction was panic?

Don't go there.