JADE'S CHOICE is the third book of THE CRYSTAL WARRIORS SERIES.

You can buy the published electronic editions of JADE'S CHOICE and the rest of THE CRYSTAL WARRIORS SERIES now at Smashwords, Apple iBooks Stores worldwide, Amazon worldwide, B&N, Kobo, and Google Play.

The trade paperback edition of JADE'S CHOICE is also available:

ISBN 9780992249892/ 0992249899

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JADE'S CHOICE (Book 3 of The Crystal Warriors Series)

By Maree Anderson

A talented young artist whose dreams have been crushed...

A crystal warrior who'd rather die than be condemned again....

Jade's so desperate to provide for her chronically ill sister that she decides to sell herself. Her first "client" turns out to be the Crystal Guardian, who promptly locks Jade in a motel room with Malach, the Crystal Warrior destined to be her life-mate. Malach is a complex, compelling man, and he soon captures Jade's heart. But Malach has a dark secret: he plans to kill himself rather than risk being imprisoned in his cursed crystal a third time. And saving him could be a losing battle... because he's still in love with the woman who refused to bond with him decades ago.

 Copyright 2012 by Maree Anderson

License Notes

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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JADE'S CHOICE

By Maree Anderson

CHAPTER ONE:

Jade exhaled a shaky breath, braced herself, and walked into the light, ultra-modern hotel lobby. The doors whooshed shut behind her, cocooning her from the heat and noise outside. She rubbed her arms, desperate to maintain the pretense she was simply reacting to an abrupt transition from summer warmth to air-conditioning. Because to admit the truth was to acknowledge how damn close she was to turning on her heel and making tracks to the nearest bus stop.

Her hand crept to her neck. She rubbed the pendant between her fingers, worrying the deep green stone's smooth surface like a devout Catholic coaxing absolution from rosary beads.

Absolution. Yeah. Sure could do with a hefty dose of that right about now.

She managed a half dozen steps before she halted, pursing her lips against the instinctive reaction to gape. Wow. Color her impressed. The grand staircase mentioned on the hotel website really was grand. But it wouldn't do to stand there, gaping like some unsophisticated small-town girl who'd never set foot in a luxurious hotel before. It wouldn't do at all. She tossed her head, thrusting back her shoulders, and stalked over to the lifts projecting "I've seen it all before" for all she was worth.

The lift door opened. Thankfully, it was empty.

Jade's heart raced until it seemed it would leap from her chest and take off for parts unknown. She ground the heel of her hand into her breastbone, willing her heartbeat to calm. And then, as the lift smoothly ascended, she clutched her pendant and focused—again—on the man she'd arranged to meet.

Given his accent and his formal way of speaking, she reckoned he would be in his fifties. Tall and lanky and debonair. Excruciatingly polite. Reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Sober, pinstriped suit with a handkerchief peeping from his breast pocket. Highly polished shoes—

The lift halted. Jade checked the floor number and forced her legs into motion. Once the lift doors shut behind her, she glanced around the foyer for lurking hotel guests.

All clear. She smoothed her dress down her thighs, stroked a palm over her hair, and ran a finger across her teeth to remove any lipstick that might have migrated from her lips. Finally, she huffed into her palm and sniffed her breath. Still minty-fresh. Yay. She even managed to summon a shred of pride that her knees didn't wobble as she headed down the carpeted corridor, searching for the room number he'd given her.

Here it was.

She stared at the shiny numerals. It wasn't too late to back out.... Before she could change her mind, she rapped smartly on the door.

It opened mid-knock, as though he'd been lurking and watching for her through the peephole.

Jade skittered back a step. Her mouth went dry, skin clammy. She didn't know whether to be flattered by the thought of him watching for her arrival, or totally squicked. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Jade."

"I know." He grasped her hand, and his eyes gleamed with an emotion she was at a loss to name.

Discomfited, her gaze slid from his face. She stared over his left shoulder, where it was safer—a last-ditch attempt to distance herself from what she was about to do.

He squeezed her hand a little tighter. He seemed to be daring her to meet his gaze. She exhaled long and slow, and answered his challenge.

Bad move. Those shrewd, too-knowing blue eyes captured hers, sucking her down into fathomless depths. She couldn't look away from him. Some still functioning part of her brain reminded her she was rudely staring, prompted her to say something witty instead of standing there gawking like a lump. But glib words—or any words at all for that matter—escaped her, and she continued to gaze at him, transfixed. Only when his attention flicked to a twittering trio of designer shopping bag-laden matrons heading for the foyer, did the strange compulsion ease.

Jade blinked and shook her head to clear the fuzz from her mind. He released her hand, and she had to lock her knees, fighting a wave of dizziness. Wouldn't do to collapse to the floor and make a spectacle of herself. Doubtless he wouldn't appreciate the unwanted attention it might provoke. And, while she scrabbled for the shreds of her lost dignity, he ushered her into his suite with a courtly gesture.

The furnishings screamed money-is-no-object exclusivity. Jade inhaled the almost too-clean, slightly too-cold air, and shivered. He wasn't at all what she'd expected given their one brief, businesslike phone conversation. Blue jeans, black boots, black jacket over a white shirt—pretty trendy for an old man. And he was old—had to be at least seventy if those numerous, deeply seamed wrinkles were any indication.

Jade swallowed to lubricate her vocal chords. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Stone," she finally managed to say.

Playing for time, she wandered through the sitting room area to stare out the window. The view of the Sydney Opera House, its remarkable roofline evoking a fleet of tall ships with billowing sails, stole her breath. "Wow. That's just... wow!"

Ack. How completely unsophisticated did that sound? So much for trying to come across as worldly-wise and up for anything. She should leave now—give up this ridiculous idea. She wasn't cut out to be a... a....

The ugly word echoed in her mind, and she suppressed a flinch, hoping he couldn't tell she was dying inside, shriveling with shame. But the truth was that she'd run out of choices. She had to see this through to the end.

When she turned to face him, he didn't bother to hide that he'd been observing her closely—still was, in fact. His head was cocked to one side, brows crinkled. He'd probably figured out she had been on the brink of doing a runner.

Jade pulled herself together and threw him a practiced social smile—the one she used to put café patrons at ease, and encourage them to chatter away so she didn't have to exert herself and have a real conversation.

It usually worked a treat.

But not this time. The silence lengthened. Her facial muscles started to ache, until maintaining the bright, sunny smile became an exquisite torture.

"You have not eaten," he said.

A statement, not a question. Jade blinked. And she was wondering how on earth he could know she'd skipped breakfast when her stomach rumbled. Loudly.

"I, too, am hungry," he said. "And I am reliably informed the hotel's brasserie provides a pleasant dining experience. Or perhaps you would enjoy a pre-lunch cocktail?"

Tempting, but.... "I'll pass on the cocktail, thanks." Despite the allure of floating through the next few hours in an alcoholic haze, Jade wanted—needed—to experience this encounter honestly, with all senses engaged. If she couldn't handle intercourse with a stranger sober and fully aware, then she sure as heck wouldn't be able to look in a mirror without heaving when this was all over.

Uh oh. He was staring at her expectantly. Think fast, Jade. Hotel restaurant and a chance to delay the inevitable? Or the privacy of this lovely suite... with what comes next hanging over you like some sword of Damocles. Both options had their pros and cons.

"Would... would you be very offended if we ate in your room, Mr. Stone?" Sitting through a meal in a public setting, minding her Ps and Qs while making small talk, would only give the butterflies fluttering in her stomach the opportunity to morph into fang-filled creatures of the night.

"Not at all. I have discovered that room service prepare the most wonderful toasted sandwiches—"

"Sounds good to me." Jade sank into the nearest armchair and tried not to fidget as he phoned down for food. He hadn't bothered to ask her preference before ordering but she didn't call him on it. This wasn't a date. She didn't have to assert herself straight up and make it clear she wasn't some naïve little girl content to let the guy make all the decisions. If he wanted to order for her, then he could be her guest.

He finished placing the order and hung up.

Jade uncurled her fingers from her pendant. "So, Mr. Stone—"

"Peter.

"Right. Peter. Is there anything in particular you'd like to do while we're waiting for the food to arrive?"

As soon as the last word left her lips, she regretted speaking up. She widened her eyes and plastered a hopefully engaging expression on her face while she mentally cursed her big mouth. Way to go, Jade. Your job is to sit here looking decorative for as long as he wants. Your job is to pretend you enjoy his company, not act like you want to get this over with. Your job is to keep your mouth shut, and smile no matter what he does—or asks you to do.

One of his eyebrows quirked upward. "I am in no particular hurry," he said.

A flush scorched her cheeks. The criticism had been subtle but she'd caught it. He'd indicated over the phone he desired her services for three hours, and if he chose to spend the time sitting chatting with her in his hotel suite, who was she to complain? She shifted in her chair, biting her lip and searching for something to say to ease the tension.

He huffed a sigh. "I meant no censure," he said. "You take what people say too much to heart, Jade."

Shit. She'd revealed too much. And the ease with which he could tap into her thoughts both frightened and angered her. She couldn't afford to be frightened so she instinctively embraced the anger, but had enough presence of mind to duck her head to hide her expression while she wrestled with it.

Damn him. Where did this old guy get off thinking he could make such personal comments? He might think he knew her. He might imagine he'd accurately pegged her type given her obviously Asian heritage, her carefully applied make-up, and the flirty sundress she'd paired with matching high-heeled sandals to counter her height disadvantage. Yeah. All he saw was a little china doll, willing to take the easy way out and prostitute herself for money. But he was wrong. He had no idea who she truly was... and why she'd stooped to this.

Nor would she ever allow him to know the real Jade—she couldn't, because the real Jade hated him for wanting her. Just like she hated that she hadn't been able to find another way. And despaired, too.

"Calm yourself, child."

She hadn't heard him move but he was there, beside her, his hand clasping her wrist. And the warmth of his touch seeped into her skin, dissolving her anger, soothing the panic and despair that threatened to overwhelm her, leaving her calm and relaxed.

"I have a gift for you, Jade."

He tugged her from the refuge of the armchair. And, as she stood, it hit her like a physical blow that this was it, the defining moment of her life.

Last chance, Jade.

Could she go through with it? Could she screw a stranger—and a practically ancient one at that—for money?

Damn straight she could. She had responsibilities, and those responsibilities would only become more pressing. She needed the advice of the best specialists money could buy. She needed to supplement her meager income—sooner rather than later.

She rested her hand on his forearm and allowed him to escort her to the huge bed that she'd tried to ignore ever since she'd first stepped foot into the suite.

Peter perched on the edge of the mattress by the heap of pillows, and patted the coverlet beside him. "Sit down, Jade.

She joined him on the mattress, resisting a childlike urge to bounce up and down. So far, so good. She could do this.

But Fate had one last slap upside the head to deliver, and when she glanced at Peter, a sneering, hate-filled face superimposed itself overtop his. It was the face that haunted Jade whenever she let down her guard and a let a man get too close.

Nausea and revulsion seared her stomach. Necessity and pride were all that prevented her bolting to the bathroom and locking herself in. She wrapped both arms around her middle. Peter appeared to be a decent guy. She couldn't imagine him hurting her or degrading her. She could do this. She would do this. For her sister's sake.

While she took deep breaths and tried to hide that she was freaking out, Peter opened the bedside drawer and retrieved an object wrapped in gold silk.

He placed it in her lap. "This is for you, Jade. Treat him well, for he deserves a second chance at redemption."

Treat him well?

Jade frowned at Peter's strange choice of words, mulling them over to gauge hidden nuances and meanings. If she accepted this gift, what else was she unknowingly accepting?

Despite her unease, her gaze fell to the wrapped object in her lap. It was the size of her palm. Its weight surprised her. Whatever-it-was felt solid and smooth beneath its silken wrapping. She unwound the strip of fine cloth—a scarf, at a guess—to reveal an egg-shaped stone of breath-stealing beauty, its polished emerald and jade hues perfectly offset by the deep gold of the scarf.

She stroked the stone's surface and it responded, warming beneath her fingertips, glowing as though polished by her feather-light caress. And then it whispered to her, and a flood of despair and long-endured horror at its fate crashed into her unprepared mind. She shared its consciousness—she had no choice in the matter. And she, too, suffered.

Jade's first instinct was to throw the stone across the room but she couldn't move a muscle, not to brush it from her lap or even to close her eyes. She was held in thrall, powerless. Even her gaze was fixed on the cursed thing.

Shit! All those cautionary tales about young girls arranging clandestine meetings with strange men they'd met online were right. But no one would ever believe this. And Jade hadn't the faintest idea how to escape this... this... whatever the heck held her captive.

"Do not fight him, Jade."

Fight what, exactly, goddamn it?

She concentrated, trying to divorce her own senses from the all-consuming sensation of hope now emanating from the stone. Sweat beaded her forehead, the droplets plumping and merging into fine rivulets that snaked slowly down her temples before seeping into her hairline. "What is it?" she managed to grate from between tightly clenched teeth. "What. Is. This. Thing?"

"He is your destiny, Jade," Peter said. "Do not be afraid. He will not hurt you."

Yeah, right. Peter Stone was a whack-job. He'd hypnotized her. Or... or... done some weird pressure-point nerve thingy to paralyze her. And he believed this stone had human characteristics, considered the cursed thing to be alive?

God. She was in big trouble now.

Peter reached for the pendant nestling in her cleavage. His touch was cool and impersonal on her skin as he rubbed the ingot-shaped stone briefly between his fingers, before letting it fall. She noted an expression that smacked of extreme satisfaction before he backed away, and disappeared from her narrow line of sight.

Jade's pendant hummed against her skin, as though the old man's touch had gifted it with a voice. Its sweet tones resounded in her mind, soothing her fears, quieting her instinct to resist. Its song crescendoed, and then sharpened into a questioning discord that thrummed through her body—

And was answered by the stone nestled in her lap. The full force of its power slammed into her, casting her adrift on a stormy sea of absolute resolve—the stone's resolve. His resolve, for she could sense him now, an undeniably male presence calling to her, demanding her surrender.

You are my savior, he said. And her world narrowed to his deep voice echoing in her mind, his thoughts probing hers as he sought entrance to her innermost secrets, his hope that she would be the key to what he so desperately sought, his belief she was his safe haven.

I am Malachite. And you.... You are mine.

She struggled, fought him. He would not own her. He would not!

Please, he whispered in the confines of her mind. Do not leave me here. I can endure it no longer. Please!

Via the bizarre mental linkage, Jade experienced the true horror of his prison. Roiling blackness. A pitiless nothingness that absorbed all light and consumed sensation.

Until she had linked with him, he'd been blind and deaf. When he'd howled his despair, no sound issued from his vocal cords, and he didn't know whether he'd been rendered dumb, or whether sound no longer existed in this never-ending Hell he called Halja.

Until she'd found him, he'd clawed and torn at his flesh but felt no pain. He hadn't known whether he still possessed a physical body in this space and time. For all he knew he had been reduced to nothing but a disembodied brain floating in the seething darkness.

Until her, there had been nothing but his own thoughts—guilt-ridden demons infected with self-loathing and despair, gnawing away at his sanity... feeding on his soul.

Please!

How could she be so cruel as to resist his plea?

She yielded. His answering roar was triumphant, and it shook her to the marrow.

Somehow, Jade got her limbs to work and struggled to her feet. The stone fell from her lap. It hit the carpet, cracked, and split in two. Abruptly freed from the stone's influence, she toppled backward, her body stiff and leaden, arms hanging uselessly by her sides.

The fall seemed to last a lifetime.

Finally, an instant before her spine smacked the mattress, a blazing corona of light captured her gaze. She bounced once, twice, still paralyzed, her brain numbed to everything except burgeoning wonder at the gray, ghostlike form materializing.

The specter was human-shaped, with glowing, glacial blue eyes. It solidified into a human man, who collapsed to the floor with a shocking thud that resounded in Jade's skull.

She couldn't comprehend the enormity of what she'd witnessed. A man appearing from thin air? It wasn't possible. He wasn't possible.

"Malachite!" The scream rent the too-quiet serenity of Peter Stone's hotel suite.

It was a woman's scream. Her scream.

"Jade!"

The man's hoarse shout reverberated throughout the room, careening off walls and surfaces. His pain scoured her skull, and his horror at what he had become, what he was prepared to do to gain his freedom, lanced through her soul.

The room wavered, becoming as fuzzy and indistinct as the thoughts clamoring in her beleaguered brain. And then there was nothing at all.

~~~

Copyright 2012 Maree Anderson

www.mareeanderson.com