Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology

by Violet Vaughn

  I wondered if Hodari felt nothing but cold when he pulled the trigger.

  That wasn’t fair to Peter. I knew it as soon as I thought it. Peter was just as angry and upset as I was. And he’d done the work to track down the info. Peter felt. He had a heart. He’d shown that time and again. His priorities were just different from mine. And if I could be more open-minded, different wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

  “Thanks for being honest.”

  “It’s how I seduce all the women. Did it work?”

  He was being the caretaker again, trying to tease over a bad situation. The fact was, neither of us was in the mood after that conversation. It took two more hours and half a bottle of whiskey to get us there. Even then it wasn’t sex for fun, for its own sake. It wasn’t even comfort sex.

  We smashed our lips together as we unbuttoned each other’s shirts, then shorts, wriggling free of our clothes. There was no teasing, no foreplay. I simply spread my legs and a moment later—only taking the time to cover himself with a condom—he was between them, thrusting and flattening.

  Out of instinct, my body responded. The orgasm, when it came, was satisfying but brief, like something I could have brought about myself if I had bothered. That Peter had done the work to get me there was simply a drunken bonus. He pulled out soon after and rolled off me, landing a few inches away.

  Above me, the stars began to blur together in a sleep-and-alcohol-induced haze.

  My last thought was of the cheetah cub being crated up and driven off to be united with his new surrogate mom. It was a good memory of something good the world had done. More comforting to me tonight than the sex had been.

  I clung to its comfort in Peter’s stead as I dropped off to sleep.

  33

  Nicky

  I woke craving strong, hot coffee.

  That in itself wasn’t unusual after a night of too much alcohol. What was concerning was that coffee was my first craving over the naked man still asleep beside me. Any other morning previous I would have jumped his bones while he was lying there like that—sinfully gorgeous, totally ripped, half-erect even in sleep, and available.

  Not that I wasn’t talking myself into it enumerating his qualities in my head like that. But it was more that I should take advantage of him, not that it was an overpowering must.

  He woke to me sucking him the rest of the way erect and didn’t object, just lifted my hair out of the way so he could watch. Although I was doing little more than going through the motions, I had to admit feeling him harden and lengthen under my ministrations was still exciting. It was a feeling of command, of control. The only problem with someone as eager and responsive as Peter was how quickly he was hard and ready for action.

  As my lips slipped over the quivering tip of him, lingering for a last moment, and the sound of my tongue and cheeks working over him filled the silent dawn around us, another sharp memory of the cheetah cub flashed through my mind.

  I straddled Peter, easing myself down on him, wondering if he was as distracted as I seemed to be this morning. He reached out both hands to hold my breasts as I began to bounce. His thumbs drummed along my nipples encouraging them to rise, and I leaned down so he could take one in his mouth to lave and suck and abuse while I slid up and down on the rest of him.

  I watched his mouth on me, no longer feeling the sex of it, the male-female interplay, the stimulus that normally was a lightning rod of desire from nipple to womb. Instead, I felt him as a babe there, an insistent mouth nursing, drawing sustenance and life.

  What the hell?

  That completely killed anything I was feeling lower down.

  Noticing the change, Peter raised his head and looked at me. For a moment, I stared at my nipple, wet and engorged, as images of cheetah cubs danced in my head.

  I rolled over and let Peter finish, simply anxious for him to be done now, knowing I wasn’t going to come alongside him this time.

  It wasn’t his best effort either, but he pounded away in me for a few minutes more before he fountained inside his condom, pulled out and rolled away.

  I started dressing immediately, looking not at Peter but at Jasiri, so weak with starvation she could barely stand. The signals my brain had been trying to send me were starting to make sense.

  “What was that about?” Peter asked, both hurt and affronted.

  “Get dressed,” I told him. “I have an idea.”

  * * *

  I asked Peter to clear out the back of the Land Rover while I called Melea to let her know we were coming. She was already awake.

  “Hope hasn’t moved all night,” she said. “Asleep most of the time, but I caught him with his eyes open once or twice. He was just staring. He’s so sad, Doctor Nic.” As sad as her voice, I imagined.

  “Let’s see if we can change that,” I said.

  Yesterday’s tube feeding had bought Hope some time, but this morning it was clear if he didn’t start suckling soon he wasn’t going to make it. I was surprised by how light he was when Peter and I and Melea moved him on his quilt into the Land Rover. He had to be less than 200 pounds when he should be weighing in around 250 by now.

  “Hang tight, Hope,” I whispered in his ear. “You’ll have a new mama soon.”

  When we got back to the boma, Steve and Abasi were there to watch and help if needed. The plan was simple. Peter and I would carry Hope in halfway to Jasiri, lay him down under one of the acacia trees, get the hell out, then Steve would throw the power to the fence back on, and we’d let nature do the rest.

  Competition or not in Jasiri’s eyes, this baby was going to die. If there was the smallest chance that Jasiri would accept him, we had to give him that chance. Female elephants were generous toward all calves in a herd, not just their own. All Jasiri needed to do was accept Hope as part of her herd and transfer her attention from her stillborn baby to him.

  Jasiri needed Hope and Hope needed Jasiri.

  Together they would be a family.

  The first part of the plan went flawlessly. Steve eased the power off, Melea opened the gate, and Peter and I carefully walked to the nearest, solitary tree we’d targeted, Hope slung between us on his quilt.

  “Careful!” Steve called. “Jasiri’s looking interested.”

  Which was, of course, what we wanted.

  Peter and I deposited Hope under the tree, in the shade, and backed slowly away even as Jasiri’s ears flapped out and her trunk came up. Sensing Peter and me, no doubt. We hurried our steps when her ears folded back till they were pinned in anger against her head. I didn’t know if she had the strength to make good on her threat to charge, but Peter and I weren’t going to wait in the boma to find out. Still backing out, we half-trotted the final distance to the gate.

  We were only a few yards away when Jasiri proved she most certainly did have the strength—and charged.

  We fled through the gate, which Melea slammed and locked behind us, and Steve threw the power back on.

  Jasiri pulled up short of the fence, spreading her ears, shaking her head and trumpeting at us. While any such display from a ten-foot-tall beast would be impressive, I knew Jasiri well enough to know this was a very lackluster performance. And when she stumbled in front of the fence, it was clear she’d used up all her energy, and maybe enthusiasm too, in her initial charge. It wasn’t long before her ears drooped, her trunk sank and her trumpeting quieted.

  From under his tree, Hope bleated, a pitiful sound that perked Jasiri’s ears at once. She turned to face the little intruder.

  I clutched Peter’s hand in anticipation.

  Jasiri took a step toward the baby—her baby, I was quick to silently urge her—then another step and another until she was almost within trunk-touching distance of the little bull. Her ears belled forward and she stretched out her trunk, the tip questing back and forth, sampling the air around him.

  She raised her foot to take that final step forward.

  But instead she turned with a snort and rushed back to her spot
by the acacias and the remains of her own dead calf.

  “No!” I cried.

  My own anguish was reflected in the faces around me.

  “How can she reject him? How?”

  Peter wrapped his arms around me and held me to his chest. I actually wanted to cry into him, but I had no tears for this. I knew well enough bringing mother and baby together was either’s last chance. That rejection meant death for them both. It was a tragedy too great for tears.

  At least for me. Melea sniffled noisily, and even Abasi wiped a tear away.

  Peter’s phone chirped. He stepped behind the Land Rover to take the call. When he came back around his face was set with resolve. “That was Hodari. We’re hitting the Selous Game Reserve tonight. An unpermitted sable. Apparently they’re a super-endangered antelope, so Sergeant Cheboi is eager to try the sting again. This time we’ll nail the bastards. That’s a promise—to you, to Jasiri and to Hope.”

  It was a good promise, a solid promise.

  I didn’t doubt the promise.

  I only wished it hadn’t come too late.

  34

  Peter

  “Is he safe?” I’d heard stories of lions killing cubs and dogs killing pups. Or was that just the males if the cubs or pups weren’t theirs?

  “I honestly don’t know.” Nicky sounded so defeated.

  “How can Jasiri not know how desperately she needs him?”

  “Maybe she does know.” Nicky’s voice was soft. “Maybe she’s just beyond caring.”

  “What do we do about him?”

  “Leave him in there for now. Maybe being with her will stimulate him. Besides, we may have to dart her to get him out.” She looked so guilty. So sorry. “Just another incredibly bad decision on my part.”

  “No,” I assured her. “How would you feel if you hadn’t given them a chance? At least we know now and don’t have to wonder and beat ourselves up later.” Nicky gave me a small, lop-sided half-smile. She responded best to logic over sentiment, I’d found. Even if it helped only enough to keep her from crying just this minute, she knew I was right.

  I just wished it made me feel better. This whole situation was out of my control. I was used to fixing things. To making things right. But the things I couldn’t make right were always the big things. The life-mattering things. The things I most needed to be able to fix.

  Nicky was pulling away. If I wasn’t completely sure before, last night and this morning had cemented that pretty well. A little easy, casual fun had been good for my morale. But if she—we—were just going to be going through the motions… I knew plenty of guys looking for nothing more than that. Just sex, no talk, no baggage, no emotion. That wasn’t me, though. Maybe when I’d first hooked up with Nicky, that was what I thought I wanted after Sameera. It had taken me months to even think about sex again. Just sex, not even a relationship. But that hadn’t been me before Sameera. Why had I thought that even though my heart was irreparably broken, I was fundamentally a different man from who I’d been before Sameera?

  I was still a man who cared, who became invested 100% in everything—everyone—I became involved with.

  And my irreparably broken heart was breaking even more because I had allowed Nicky and Jasiri and now Hope into it. What was that definition of insanity—trying the same things over and over and expecting a different outcome. I had held Sameera and Danah in my heart once and that had ended in tragedy.

  Why had I believed doing the same with these three would end any differently?

  * * *

  Nothing changed between Jasiri and Hope before I had to leave in the late afternoon. Nothing between me and Nicky changed either. She disappeared for a couple of hours to care for a tribesman’s cow, and when she returned she just stared out over the boma at the latest failures, barely acknowledging the other failure sitting beside her.

  No, that was probably too harsh. She was my failure, I likely wasn’t hers. I was the one beginning to think our casual relationship could become something more. I was simply a…disappointment…to her in all likelihood. Merely tolerated now.

  Driving back to Kilwa Kivinje, I came to a painful decision. Whatever happened tonight, I would return to Kulinda tomorrow only to collect my few things and move on. Maybe Burundi or The Congo. Find work that didn’t have anything to do with beautiful animals and even more beautiful vets. I already knew the ending to the story at Kulinda. I didn’t need to stick around and watch it all play out, heartbreak by inevitable heartbreak, again.

  35

  Peter

  “I did my homework on this one,” I told Hodari as we sped toward Selous.

  “Yeah?” He didn’t sound much interested, but I needed to be sure we were steered toward where Sergeant Cheboi would be waiting.

  “Yeah. I figure they want tourists to see animals, so they’ll encourage the animals to be along the tour lines. There’s water in the northeast fed by a stream that runs near the northern border. And there are four ranger stations. Mountains are to the west and north, so rougher terrain there. Main entrance is to the east with most of the campsites and lodges south of Lake Siwandu. So I’m looking at the plain between the mountains and north of the lake where tour cars have easy access to be where we find most of the game. The east fence about two miles north of the Mtemere Gate looks to be the best entry point. And the terrain in from the road looks like mainly rolling savanna. Am I close?”

  “We’re going in on the south side. There’s legal hunting in the south.”

  “Yeah?” That would put us miles from where the sergeant and his men would be waiting. Besides, legal hunting didn’t extend to endangered species like the sable. “We have a permit?”

  Hodari scowled. “The legal hunt grounds are further from the ranger stations.”

  “But it’s wilderness. Rough terrain. No tour paths. Aren’t sables rare enough that we’ll have to hunt one down no matter what? Why make it harder?”

  “Is you or me the one that’s been out here before?”

  I shrugged. “Terrain sociology was my specialty in Afghanistan. Mapping out best locations for attack and defense. I thought that’s why Brandon hired me. You know how to track. I know how to keep us on point.” All of which was complete bullshit, but I figured I knew Hodari well enough by now to know he’d be clueless—both about military ops and why Brandon had agreed to take me on. His weakness there was my strength.

  Hodari’s eyes bored into the side of my face. I kept staring straight ahead, keeping my expression as composed and noncommittal as possible.

  “We’ve been out twice now. Just thought it might be time to start earning my keep.”

  He kept studying me. Long enough I began to worry when he was going to check the road ahead again and if I was communicating anything to him that would increase his suspicions. “Never heard of terrain sociology,” he said at last.

  Neither had I until two minutes ago. “Military science. It involves topology, troop movement, distance triangulations. Weather too, but that’s not a concern here. Psychology and expectations of when and where the enemy will move next.”

  His head swiveled back toward the road. I focused on my breathing, keeping it regular, hoping he wouldn’t question anything else because I wasn’t sure how much more bluff I had in me.

  “North, south…as long as we get in and out with the target.”

  “And as fast as possible,” I agreed. “That’s where your expertise comes in.” He had conceded to my skill, it was my turn to acknowledge his. The psychology of the enemy bit hadn’t been all bluff.

  “Just get me close.” He didn’t even try to hide the pride in his boast.

  We kept the headlights on low beam until we’d sheared through the east fence, well north of the main gate as I’d proposed, then we switched on the spotlight, cutting it between trees and into the brush, looking for a glimpse of dark and heavy bodies with high curving horns. We counted on the white highlights of the sables’ cheeks and bellies to reveal them as we made ou
r way to the lakeshore. I palmed a glance at my phone to be sure I hadn’t missed any messages from Cheboi. Nothing, which meant the sting was on. It was up to them to keep out of our way until we had the evidence in hand. Evidence I’d need to make sure that Hodari bagged himself.

  I had lied to Nicky. It was more than cold I’d felt when I pulled the trigger on the game I had. More than cold I felt about Hodari pulling the trigger tonight. Cold was just the easiest answer to such a complicated emotion. Anger and disgust fed equal parts into it. And each death added scars to a soul I’d thought when I’d left Afghanistan could bear no more. The capacity for pain seemed to expand far more readily than the capacity for love.

  The giant sable that Hodari tracked down was a magnificent beast. A sultan in his prime keeping his small harem safe and satisfied. That my rifle jammed and I couldn’t seem to clear it after I intentionally stovepiped a casing in it before starting out tonight was little comfort when Hodari raised his weapon to his shoulder and fired in my stead. It was my kill no less than his.

  Slinging the rifle strap over his shoulder, Hodari exchanged the gun for a bone saw. I hung back as he started forward.

  Cheboi’s men broke cover then. Four of them with shotguns, the sergeant yelling for us to put up our hands.

  Hodari whirled, sliding his rifle from his shoulder, grabbing it to aim and defend. But I was already there, knocking it away. He struck out with the saw, using it as a cleaver. The serrated teeth nicked my shoulder as I seized his wrist. He struck at my face with his other fist, but hand-to-hand was pure instinct to me. My arm blocked his with a reflex I didn’t have to think about. The hand still crushing his wrist twisted his arm—hard—behind his back.

  “Stand down,” I growled at him. “Unless you want something dislocated for good.”