Forged in Ember

by Trish McCallan

  Rocking back on his heels, Mac raised his eyes in exaggerated surprise. “No shit? You’re allowing us to join the party.”

  Without constant badgering. That had to be a first.

  Another shrug lifted the enormous shoulders. “Be ready.”

  Mac snapped him a mock salute and, “Yes, sir.” But Wolf was already gone, which made the sarcasm much less effective.

  After calling Zane, filling him in on the upcoming mission, and telling him to pass the word to Cos and Rawls, Mac headed for Benji’s room. Brendan looked up from the game he was playing on Amy’s laptop, but Amy didn’t budge from her slouched position in the chair opposite the bed.

  Sleeping? Brendan mouthed the word and nodded at his mother.

  Yeah. Mac frowned as he stepped into the room. Her position in that chair looked as uncomfortable as hell. Time to whisk the lady off to bed where she could rack up the zzzs without crippling herself in the process . . . assuming he could get her to cooperate without pitching a fit about staying with her kids.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked Brendan. The kid didn’t look any different. No obvious signs of a fever or pain. He even looked rested and fed. Amy had made sure the boy got enough sleep and meals. Too bad she wasn’t doing the same for herself.

  Brendan cocked his head and paused, as though he were monitoring his body. “I don’t feel any different.”

  “That was a pretty brave thing you did yesterday,” Mac told him quietly. “Stupid. But brave.”

  Brendan shrugged and looked away. “Not really. I had to do it. It was the only thing that made sense.”

  “That doesn’t make it any less brave.”

  “I guess.”

  “Your mom needs some real sleep, in her bed instead of this chair,” Mac told Brendan as he walked around to the front of Amy’s chair. “I’ll take her back to your rooms if you’ll keep an eye on your brother.”

  “I’ll stay and keep him company. But Mom won’t go with you.”

  The boy was probably right. Amy had proved repeatedly what a devoted mother she was. So damn devoted she was determined to run herself into the ground. The contrast between her behavior and his mother’s was so stark it was almost comical. Here Amy would barely take a break from her sentinel duty, as though leaving Benji’s side left him open to illness or injury. As opposed to his own mother, who’d been too busy fucking every sailor in port and crashing every party to remember she had kids . . . let alone feed and bathe and tend to them.

  Or make sure they were at least locked in her car while she was getting her weekly fuck on so they wouldn’t get hit by a Goddamn car.

  He wrestled his mind from that direction before Davey’s face could bloom in his mind, and he refocused his attention where it was needed—on the woman sprawled out before him.

  She had to start taking better care of herself. He bent to slip one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back. He held his breath as he lifted her. She was heavier than she looked. Heavy enough he started rethinking the whole carrying-her-to-her-quarters thing. But then she sighed, cuddled into his chest, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  You can do this. Just dig in, ignore the discomfort, and get her home.

  Besides, it felt so good to have her in his arms again . . . without her panicking and pulling away. Everything fit perfectly. Her ass against his left arm, her back against his right side, her breasts against his chest. Even her head snuggled perfectly into the hollow of his throat.

  And then she sighed again and her warm breath caressed his bare throat.

  The sound and sensation lurched through him like a shot of Jack Daniel’s. A burning rush that adrenaline-bombed his veins and jump-started his heart, lungs, and cock.

  Oh yeah, standing in front of Brendan with the boy’s mother in his arms and a full-blown erection filling the crotch of his loose sweats was not one of his finer moments. He turned a little too hastily and stumbled, caught himself, and froze. But she didn’t awaken. If anything, her breathing seemed deeper and more even.

  “The door code is one-five-three-five,” Brendan called out softly from behind him.

  Jesus, he hadn’t even thought about how he was supposed to access her apartment. Hell, maybe subconsciously he intended to take her to his quarters. His bed.

  By the time he walked through the clinic’s sliding doors, his arms were cramping. There was no way he’d make it all the way to her quarters without dropping her. Luck was on his side, though. A motorized cart was parked to the right of the door. He carried her to it and carefully settled her into the passenger seat, then propped her against the backrest. She stayed there until Mac climbed behind the wheel and backed up the cart, at which point she slid down the cushion and plopped her head in Mac’s lap.

  He caught his breath.

  Son of a bitch.

  Her mouth was so fucking close to his swollen cock, he could swear he felt her warm breath caressing the sensitive skin down there. Which was impossible considering the heavy fabric separating the two . . .

  With his heart beating way too fast and his palms sweating, he backed the transport out of its parking slot. Turning the wheel hard to the right, he sent the cart into a tight U-turn.

  Holy fucking Christ.

  The momentum rubbed her cheek against his crotch. His cock twitched, elongating, apparently trying to reach her mouth.

  By the time he reached her quarters, the lower quadrant of his body felt flushed and heavy and ached like a motherfucker—with no end in sight.

  Jesus—he was too fucking old for blue balls.

  He pulled the golf cart into the wall at an angle beside her door. Got out, punched in the code, and yanked off his shirt to shove it under the doorframe so the door would stay open. This time when he eased Amy into his arms, she cuddled up against his chest—his bare chest. It shouldn’t have made any difference. She was still clothed, for Christ’s sake. There was no reason for the heightened sensuality or the damn chills tickling his spine. They weren’t even touching bare skin to bare skin.

  But possibly, just possibly, removing his shirt had been another subconscious move toward getting himself naked . . . and in her bed.

  He seriously needed to rein in his damn libido.

  Trying to ignore the way her warmth was heating his naked chest, he carried her into the first bedroom and found two narrow beds. He carried her back out. The second bedroom had a bigger bed. He eyed it as he laid her down in its middle. Might not be big enough for both of them, not for what he had in mind . . .

  When her back hit the mattress, she uttered another of those delicious soft sighs and rolled over to hug her pillow. His cock, the bastard, urged him to climb in there beside her . . . give her something else to sigh about, give her something else to hold on to, give himself a chance to rock her world—as he’d promised.

  Of course, she wouldn’t get the sleep then.

  With a frustrated groan, he removed her sneakers, backtracked to the first bedroom, and dragged a blanket off one of the beds, then returned to Amy’s side to spread the blanket over her.

  And then he fled.

  Because that’s sure as hell what it felt like. Fleeing the room for fear he’d give in to his primal impulses and climb into that bed with her, only sure as hell not to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  AMY CAUGHT KAIT’S fingers as the long-haired blonde goddess stepped back from Benji’s bed. The hand she squeezed between both of hers was still lobster red, hot enough to sting and emitting heat like a cooling stove.

  Clearing the roughness from her throat, Amy gave Kait’s hand one last squeeze and stepped back. “With luck, this will be the last time he’ll need healing. There’re not enough thank-yous in the world to express how grateful I am. Without you he wouldn’t have survived until the antidote was ready.”

  Kait waved the gratitude away, her brown eyes softening in sympathy. “That stunt Brendan pulled must have given you a few gray hairs. I bet you’ll be ready for a
nice long vacation once this is over.”

  Amy’s stomach knotted at the memory. Chills tingled across her scalp. Lord, her son’s stunt, as Kait called it, had given her more than gray hair—it had almost given her an aneurysm, her blood pressure had climbed so high.

  Amy laughed. “A sandy beach, warm breeze, and clear blue water would be nice.”

  The mental picture that bloomed in her mind made her smile, partly because there was someone holding her hand in the vision. A dark-haired man with watchful black eyes and a furrowed brow.

  Except he really didn’t fit with the sandy beach and crystal clear water. She ditched the surroundings but kept the man. She could do without the beachfront vacation. She wasn’t sure she could do without the man.

  “You’re certain the antidote is working on Brendan?” Kait asked carefully as if she didn’t want to stoke Amy’s anxiety.

  “We won’t know for sure until tomorrow. But it looks like it.” Amy didn’t cloak her relief. “The blood test today showed a reduction in the N2FP isotope. The bonds between the isotope and the ATP molecules are dissolving. If this continues tomorrow, and Brendan doesn’t show any secondary effects, Leonard says we can give Benji the antidote.”

  “That’s great. This healing should last him for a while. Hopefully at least until Cosky gets back. So far Benji hasn’t needed that extra boost of power that Cosky supplies, but it eases my mind to know that he’s there if your son needs both of us. Or if anyone else does too, of course.”

  Kait’s face tightened more and more as she spoke. Eventually she stopped talking altogether, took a deep breath, followed by another, and closed her eyes. Amy could almost see her force the worry away.

  Amy’s tension, on the other hand, rose like a flare. Cosky was going somewhere? Somewhere dangerous, judging by Kait’s reaction.

  “Where’s Cos going?” Amy didn’t bother to keep her voice or expression unconcerned. If Cosky was headed off on a mission, then the other members of ST7 would be going as well. Which concerned her deeply.

  Kait inhaled another breath and exhaled slowly, but this time the tactic didn’t appear to work quite as well. Strain flickered across her face. “Wolf located the yacht the council is meeting on. They go wheels up at oh-two-hundred.”

  The anxiety jumped a few more notches. “Is Mac on this mission?”

  With a slow nod, Kait brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “They all are. Wolf and his team. Mac and his. They’re pulling out all the stops.”

  Which made sense. The NRO had to be stopped. The civilization-ending device they’d created needed to be destroyed. Shadow Mountain, along with Mac and his team, couldn’t afford to take any chances. They had to hit hard and fast.

  But did Mac have to go along for the ride? The man had barely recovered from one near-death mission. Did he have to jump straight into another?

  Amy closed her eyes and fought to calm her heart and mind. Of course he had to go. Mac wouldn’t send his men if he wasn’t willing to go himself.

  That sense of duty and his loyalty were two of the things she respected about him most.

  She reined in her fear and assessed the situation, forcing herself to think past her initial panic. “Are they boarding from the water or fast-roping down from the chopper?”

  “I don’t know.” Kait shook her head. “Cosky didn’t say. All I know is that the boat is at sea. Somewhere in the Gulf of California.”

  Which meant Mac and his team would be in their element. They had trained extensively for waterboarding and roping down from above. The S in SEAL even stood for sea. Some of her anxiety eased.

  Plus, Shadow Mountain had a couple of secret weapons. If Mac or any of his men took a hit, this time they would have plenty of healers on board ready to help them.

  “You’re going with them, right?” Amy asked. Having Kait on the mission would give the men much better odds. She was the strongest of the Shadow Mountain healers.

  Kait couldn’t heal everyone, of course. Nor could she heal death—as proved by her attempts on Jude. But at one point or another, Kait had healed all the SEALs except Zane. So if Mac or Rawls or Cosky were hit, she’d heal them, just like she had in the past.

  Kait’s throat worked. Pure frustration flooded her face and seethed in her eyes. “No. Cosky and Wolf won’t let me.” She blew out an irritated sigh. “If it was just Cosky, I could work around it. But Wolf runs the whole damn show. With him backing Cos, I can’t even get near the hangar and stow away.”

  Some of Amy’s newfound calm expired.

  “They’ll still have William and One Bird, though. I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Amy said, trying to convince herself as much as Kait. Too bad she didn’t believe her own reassurance.

  “Sure.” But the strain in Kait’s eyes remained. “You should get some sleep while you can. Benji should be good for a day or so now. I’m sure the nurse will keep an eye on him.”

  “I’m fine,” Amy said with a smile. “I got several uninterrupted hours this morning.”

  After Mac had carried her off to her bed and left her there drenched in his scent, she’d dreamed about him. She’d awoken completely refreshed, with the smell of him still surrounding her. She still wasn’t sure whether she was pissed or pleased that he’d left her in that bed alone. On the one hand, she’d gotten some desperately needed sleep . . . on the other he hadn’t been around to turn her dreams into reality.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to get some more,” Kait said. “Who knows what tomorrow will bring? You may not get another chance.”

  Amy thought about that as she walked over to check on Brendan. Dr. Zapa had admitted Brendan after he’d injected himself so they could monitor him. Having the two boys next to each other made life a little easier. She didn’t have to ask someone to stay with Brendan while she was with Benji, although Brendan was in and out of his bed so much it was hard to keep track of him.

  This time he was in bed, lying on his side, sound asleep. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, a new habit. Benji’s downhill spiral had started with a fever, so she was fever shy these days.

  “I feel fine, Mom,” Brendan said, startling her. “No different from how I felt before the shot.”

  She could have sworn he’d been sleeping, but his dark-brown eyes were open now—clear and focused, as if he’d jumped directly from sleep to mental acuity. His father had been the same way. Fully awake the moment he opened his eyes. No haze, no fading dreams. Just instant focus.

  “Are you still mad at me?” he asked, his face more curious than worried.

  Amy sighed and brushed a tuft of hair off his forehead. “You scared the hell out of me, Brendan. You had no idea what that stuff would do to you. You had no idea if it was safe to take it the way you found it. It could have killed you.”

  She broke off. They’d had this discussion already. Multiple times. But she was virtually certain he’d do the exact same thing if he had to do it again. Brendan was positive he’d done the right thing. Nothing anyone told him would convince him otherwise.

  He’d inherited his father’s conviction and faith in his own ability.

  It was so strange. If you counted by days, John’s murder hadn’t been that long ago. Almost six months now, 180 days—give or take. But emotionally . . .

  It felt like forever. Years at least. John felt like a dim, treasured memory. She didn’t dream about him anymore. Not like she had in the beginning.

  Mac dominated her dreams these days.

  Guilt swelled. John had been a good man, a good husband. A wonderful father. He deserved better than this. He deserved to be mourned for longer than six months.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” Brendan propped himself up with his elbow.

  “Just tired.” Amy leaned over him to pull up the thin white blanket.

  He apparently bought that explanation, because he lay flat again and closed his eyes.

  “You should get some sleep,” Brendan said. “I’ll watch Benj.” But his eyes were already flut
tering down and his face was relaxing.

  “Don’t you worry about Benji,” Amy whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Rest now.” By the time she straightened again, he was sound asleep, his breath coming deep and easy.

  She peeked into Benji’s cubicle to check on him. He’d rolled from his back onto his side, but his face looked peaceful. The fever flush was absent from his cheeks. She hesitated there for a long time. Kait and Brendan were right. She should head to her quarters and get some sleep.

  But sleep wasn’t what she needed.

  The night nurse looked up as Amy approached her desk.

  “I’ll be away for a while,” Amy said. “Buzz me if you need me, okay?”

  Dr. Zapa had given her a pager when Benji had been admitted to the extended care unit. So far they hadn’t needed to use it, but the medical staff could reach her immediately if Benji—and now Brendan—took a turn for the worse.

  “Absolutely, sugar. You go and get a good meal and relax.” As Amy walked out of the clinic, the nurse went back to her clipboard and charts.

  She must look a lot worse than she realized; it seemed like everyone was trying to send her to bed. She could go back to the set of rooms she shared with the boys. They’d be silent and empty. Lonely. Unappetizing. But she wasn’t going there. She’d known exactly where she was headed and why long before she’d left the clinic.

  It wasn’t home—although she didn’t think of this place as home. She doubted she ever would.

  Mac was shipping out. Embarking on a mission that might well kill him. She wasn’t completely certain what she felt for him, but whatever it was, it was strong. He frustrated her at times, annoyed her at times, made her want to throw things at times. But he also made her feel safe and trusted. He brought her to life.

  What she did know for absolute certain was that she didn’t want him to bug out. The thought of him dying seared through her like a sword, filling her with pain. She felt something for the man . . . something that dug deep and clung.

  She’d lost one man she’d loved. She didn’t think she could bear losing Mac too.