Hawkins slammed his fist on the elaborately carved table that stood between him and his second-in-command, Harry Billinger. He could barely contain his anger as he stared at the man responsible for the Order’s latest blunder. His face took on an unhealthy flush as pain reverberated throughout his arm, reminding him that he still wasn’t completely healed. Despite the advanced medical devices and medicines the Order had at their disposal, his recovery had been slow…and painful.

In truth, Hawkins had only himself to blame for Billinger’s misappropriation of resources. Hawkins had been distracted from his military duties because of his single-minded pursuit of the bitch who had managed to escape him earlier in the month. His need to possess her, to prove to the traitorous Captain MacKinnon the breadth of his power, consumed his every thought. And now, given this latest turn of events, he was even more committed to his sadistic plan.

Billinger cleared his throat, reminding Hawkins of the task at hand. Had it been anyone other than Billinger, Hawkins wouldn’t have hesitated to kill the man for his error in judgement. But he liked Billinger. Besides, the responsibility of his men’s deaths really wasn’t Billinger’s fault. He had only himself and his obsession with MacKinnon’s whore to blame. Whatever, he thought dismissively. It’s merely the cost of war. Hawkins grinned as his eyes met his second in command’s. The man was even more sadistic, more cunning and devious than Hawkins…and if there was one thing Hawkins appreciated more than blind loyalty, it was a man with zero morality. Still, he couldn’t let this error go unpunished.

Hawkins faced his second and motioned him to take a chair across from him. He could sense the man’s relief and immediately felt a flush of anger. He’d have to deliver a worthy punishment lest Billinger think he was losing his edge. A grin slowly pulled at the corners of his mouth as he realized the irony. Billinger had earned the nickname, Harry the Horrible, for the tortuous methods he devised as part of his interrogation practices. Hawkins was certain he would be able to come up with something fitting; something Billinger himself would use. After all, he had to be certain Billinger would never again let him down…regardless of who was at fault.

“Permission to speak freely, Commander,” Billinger asked, the perspiration dotting his upper lip the only evidence of his growing trepidation.

“Certainly, Billinger,” Hawkins stated, drawing out the last syllable in his name. “We are, after all, friends of sorts.” His smile never reached his eyes.

Billinger hesitated only a moment before he launched into a full report of the Templars’ latest activity. The hesitation wasn’t missed by Hawkins, who grew excited with the knowledge that his second most likely knew what was coming. He only half listened as Billinger provided excruciating details about how the Templars seemed to anticipate the Order’s every move. As such, the smaller Templar army had ambushed Hawkins’ armies in most of Northern Europe and in the Southern continent. Their losses now totaled over 10,000 men after they walked into a blood bath that lasted nearly 24 hours. Billinger’s men were exhausted, hungry and emotionally depleted.

“Sir. Your orders?” Billinger asked again, his voice sharp.

Hawkins stared blankly at the man before him. He hadn’t caught most of what Billinger had said. He didn’t need to. He already knew how the Order had been ambushed…he had withheld the information Billinger was missing. He hadn’t meant to, but he was consumed by his pursuit of the spirited Caitriona Sinclair. Indeed, it was during his pursuit that the truth—and the pieces—had fallen into place: the pretty redhead could foresee future events. He was sure of it. He just wasn’t sure what other powers the witch possessed. But he was only too willing to find out.

Billinger cleared his throat again, reminding Hawkins that the younger man was waiting for orders.

“Yes, I heard you,” Hawkins snapped.

Billinger remained impassive, the only evidence of his fury the slight tick in the lower right corner of his jaw.

Hawkins watched as a bead of perspiration ran from his second’s upper lip and dripped onto the cold, cement floor, turning the pasty slab a deep grey. “Have the troops in the North regroup in Germany. Give them some R&R, but have them on standby. If I’m not mistaken I’ll have need of their services very shortly.” He ran a hand across his face, the weariness of the past week weighing on him.

“And the troops in the South?” Billinger questioned.

“I want you to take 100 of your best men and tell MacKinnon you request intercession and parlay per our laws. Tell him you demand an audience with him and are most eager to find a solution; a compromise, if you will.”

“Sir?” The disbelief was evident in Billinger’s tone.

“I need you to deliver a believable performance,” Hawkins snarled. “Do you think you can do that without fucking up?” Venom dripped from his voice.

“Of course,” Billinger stated, smartly saluting and coming to full attention.

“And just in case you had any doubts, I have no intention of calling a truce. On the contrary, I want to flush MacKinnon into the open and then steal from him the one thing he prizes over everything else.”

Billinger remained silent, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall behind Hawkins.

Hawkins touched his hand to the spot above his eye where MacKinnon’s blade had struck with near-deadly accuracy. He winced at the pain the slight movement brought as a grin spread across his face. Yes, he thought wickedly. He would bring MacKinnon to heel yet. But the beautiful witch…he had all sorts of plans for her.

Billinger saluted. “As you command,” he stated, and turning on his heel, exited the room.

Hawkins wandered to the window and stared out at the troops below, imagining how he would fuck MacKinnon’s witch until she was too used, too defeated to protest. Then he would force her to use her powers for his own self-interest…and once he’d depleted her of her gift…then the real fun would begin, he thought as he clapped his hands together, the evidence of his excitement straining against his pants. He opened the window, allowing the cool breeze to bring his excitement to check. Yes, he thought wildly. The bitch was about to pay the ultimate price and he was going to enjoy every tortuous minute.