I must be getting old. Another winter in the mountains and the chill seeped into his pores, settling into his bones.
Opening his eyes once more, he leaned against the wooden jam encasing the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared through the enormous panes of glass behind his desk. Pristine white snow fell in gentle dancing flakes. The sky began to darken, the last rays of sunlight dappling against the boughs of pine branches in a myriad explosion of colors.
All-in-all everything worked out well. Another couple reunited, two lost souls brought together, fulfilling their destiny.
A day or two respite before Brad's destiny unfolded. Quin gave a mocking laugh. Maybe I've got time for a long nap before all hell breaks loose—again?
Some cases, like Jake Stone's employed more physical than metaphysical effort on Quin's part. Brad's case, on the other hand, looked to be just the opposite.
The sound of a throat clearing behind him jarred him from his musings. He caught himself, an almost imperceptible stiffening of his spine and froze the motion before it was even a fully formed action. This office was his private sanctum, nobody entered without his knowledge.
Tired, so tired. That explained why he hadn't heard the person enter the room.
"Jake and Cassie look happy." Merena's softly accented velvety tone whispered across his senses, gliding along his skin in a gentle brush, and he found himself wishing it was a physical touch instead of just a verbal caress.
"They are. They're engaged. A spring wedding in a few weeks."
"Good. They deserve happiness after everything they've been through."
"No thanks to your aunts." Quin didn't even attempt to hide the bitterness in his tone. Sometimes working for vindictive witches like The Fates ruined an otherwise perfect existence. Merena sighed.
"Quin, they're doing their jobs. When it's time to sever the thread of life. . ."
"They're capricious bitches who love controlling people's lives and manipulating people's pasts and their futures like pawns on a chessboard. Don't tell me they're just doing their jobs." Quin slapped the window sill encasing the window. The harsh crack of his palm meeting wood echoed throughout the office.
"Cassie died. The prophecy of The Fates was fulfilled." Bitterness dripped from each word and Quin saw Merena wince at the harshness in his tone. He almost wished he'd softened his stance, but shoved that desire deep down, burying it along with all the other emotions he couldn't afford. Like happiness. Joy. Love.
Merena walked across the carpeted floor, although walked probably wasn’t the right word. Floated—so graceful and effortless as she joined him beside the expanse of windows. Her hand cupped his cheek and he jolted back in surprise. A quick look of hurt dashed across her face before she hid it behind a mask of indifference. The hand she raised to his cheek slowly lowered down to her side, the fingers curled inward into a tight fist.
"Yes, Cassie died. As the Fates foretold. When they told you to bring her and Jake here, they didn't know about Jake's . . . what did he call it, his blessing?"
Quin smiled. "Yes."
"The aunts only saw Cassie's thread of life severed. Ended. Not Jake's. When he shared his family's gift with Cassie, everything in her life stream changed. A new golden thread has begun for her—and for Jake. Since he actually died before his time and was resuscitated by the doctors and hospital personnel, he's been given a new golden thread as well."
"Golden thread?"
Merena ran her fingertip against the glass, painting an invisible design only she could see against the cold windowpane, before meeting Quin's gaze.
"They're very rare. In all recorded history, only a handful of people receive new life threads, or golden threads, when they're timeline ceases. Jake and Cassie both have this now."
Quin reached forward, gently clasping the hand Merena still pressed against the window. The chill from the glass had seeped into her skin, and he unconsciously rubbed it gently between both his hands, warming her fingers with his touch.
"How will it affect them, this golden thread?" He whispered the words, his eyes staring at her beautiful face reflected in the dim light of the office. He'd only turned on the lamp on his desk instead of the harsh brightness of the recessed lighting. Long blonde curls were pulled back in a large clip, with wispy strands around her face, and a riotous mass of spiraling curls down her back, reaching nearly to her waist. The vivid blue of her eyes danced in the firelight's glow, the pupils nearly drowning the color as she stared back at him. The tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips. She smoothed it across her lower lip and a spark of desire shot through him at the sight. He longed to lean forward the scant few inches separating them and taste her rosy pink lips. Tug that full lower lip between his teeth and lave it with his tongue.
What would she taste like? He'd often wondered before, but this need roaring through him was new. Something was changing and he wasn't sure he liked it. Or maybe he liked it too much.
"Merena?"
"What?" It was nice to see, she was as rattled by their closeness as he'd been. With a sigh of regret, he took a step back, putting space between them.
"The golden thread? How does it affect Jake and Cassie?"
"Their lifespan, their life force if you will, is now intertwined for eternity. The threads of life for them were once individual whole threads, their life lines separate, two threads. Now they share one golden thread, two halves of the same whole. Since Cassie died for him, and Jake died for her, forever their threads are intertwined. Nothing and no one can ever separate them."
Good. One more couple reunited. Two souls destinies fulfilled. One step closer to absolution. How many more couples would he need to bring together before his debt was finally paid in full?
Merena took a step toward the door, looking at Quin over her shoulder. "I just thought you’d like to know. That's why I came. I . . ." Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, walking away.
"Merena, wait." Quin spoke without thinking.
She froze but didn't turn around.
"Would you like to go to their wedding with me?" What are you saying? Are you crazy? Quin mentally smacked himself in the head, although he outwardly appeared his calm, rational self.
Merena glanced over her shoulder, a mysterious smile played against those full lips which moments before tormented him into nearly breaking his hard-as-granite resolve. Her response both surprised and terrified him.
"I'd love to."
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kathy Ivan is an award winning author of romantic suspense and paranormal romance. By day she works a boring, uncreative job. By night she unleashes all the voices in her head, diving into the new and exciting worlds she creates, knowing there will ALWAYS be a happy ending.
An avid and voracious reader and lover of all genres of romance, Kathy can often be found with her nose buried in a book (that is when she's not at the computer telling stories of her own).
Kathy lives in Texas and loves to hear from readers. Connect with her at:
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/kathyivan.5
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/kathyivan
Website: http://www.kathyivan.com
Secrets of a Mayan Moon
By
Paty Jager
SECRETS OF A MAYAN MOON
Copyright © 2012 Patricia Jager
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopyin
g, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Windtree Press
Beaverton, Oregon
Visit us at http://windtreepress.com
Special Thanks:
Cynthia Rothwell http://blog.guatemalangenes.com/
Sharon Prado
Chapter 1
Dr. Isabella Mumphrey shoved her glasses tighter on the bridge of her nose and pursed her lips. She’d yet to fail at anything she set out to do. Grad school at seventeen, doctorate in anthropology at twenty-two. There had to be a way to get more funding. Grant forms, statistical data, and the letter from the dean stating the funding for her department was going to be cut in half sprawled across the coffee table.
“Hello! Hello!” her cockatoo caterwauled as her cell phone emitted the thundering beat of Native American drums.
Stretching to relieve the tight muscles in her shoulders, Isabella didn’t hurry to snatch up the phone. The only people who called were from the university or her father. She wasn’t in the mood to speak to her illusive father, and the university would have only one reason to call—to tell her to start making cuts.
“Quiet, Alabaster, I’m getting there.” She glanced at the number and frowned. It wasn’t her father or the university.
“Hello?”
“Isabella, it’s Virgil Martin.”
The excited voice of her family friend and mentor shoved all worries to the side, and she clutched the phone to hear him better.
“Where are you? I didn’t recognize the number.”
“I’m at the Ch’ujuña dig in Guatemala. Get your shots, pack, and get down here. I’ve found something truly remarkable and I need your knowledge of Chol Mayan to help me decipher a stone tablet.” If his excited tone hadn’t overrode the order she would have wondered if this was the same man who took such care to show her the world she’d come to love.
“You know I’d come help you if I could. Right now isn’t a good time for me to go anywhere. They’re pulling my funding. I can’t fly off to Guatemala now.” In all her twenty-six years she’d never told Dr. Virgil Martin ‘no’. He was the father her own flesh and blood refused to be. He’d listened and held her when she cried over the treatment she’d received at boarding school. It was hard for a seven year old to fit in with thirteen and fourteen year-olds. When she wanted to throw intellectual tests, he talked her out of it. And he was there cheering when she received her doctorate of anthropology.
“This tablet could help you get funding. The information on it could make the anthropology world stand up and take notice of your work. And I have a wealthy man who is willing to pay us half a million to decipher the tablet.”
Isabella clutched the phone tighter to her ear. “Did you say half a million dollars?”
“Yes. He wants to be the benefactor to give the information to the Mayan people and is willing to pay us to decipher the tablet. I’ll split the fee with you.” His voice became muffled.
“What were you saying, Virgil?” She strained to hear as her mind spun. Two hundred fifty thousand would buy enough time to finish her research.
“Nothing. A local wanted to use the phone. I need your answer. I can’t do this alone. But we can do it together.”
Virgil had never steered her wrong. If he thought between the two of them they could decipher this tablet, garner more prestige, and make half a million, she had no alternative than to fly to Guatemala.
“Call me back tomorrow night, and I’ll let you know when I arrive.”
*~*
Hot humid air choked Isabella as she stepped through the glass doors of the Mundo Maya airport and into the shaded portico.
After asking for a sabbatical and suffering through the vaccinations, she’d bought a ticket to Guatemala, and following the university’s recommendations regarding packing for the jungle, she’d boarded the plane. Twenty-four hours later, she wanted a shower and a soft bed knowing after tonight she’d be sleeping on a cot until she and Virgil deciphered the tablet.
Isabella pushed her light-weight glasses higher on her nose and scanned the empty portico. With her box of survival equipment clutched under one arm, she plucked at her clinging cotton tank. The arid Arizona heat back home was more tolerable than gagging on this humidity.
The shaded portico spared her eyes from the bright sunlight beyond the cover. A small man stepped from the shadows of a concrete pillar blocking her path. His facial features were classic Mesoamerican.
The man barely stood as tall as her shoulder. Her lips started to curve into a welcome smile when sunlight glinted off a large, wide-blade knife he pointed her direction.
The knife grew to the size of a machete in her mind as the man stalked toward her his face scrunched in an evil sneer. Fear gave way to anger.
She was bigger. She knew martial arts. She could…what? Inhaling deep, she focused on her center and waited. Shamutz! All those years of Taekwondo and in a crisis all I can think to do was scream and run. But her throat constricted and her legs remained rooted to the ground.
Her gaze flicked to the knife point growing closer. Panic tried to squeeze up her dry throat. She would be stabbed and robbed and there wasn’t a thing she could do, if her frozen limbs were any indication to her bravery.
The travel agent and Virgil had warned against traveling alone in rural areas, but she’d assumed the airport would be safe. Swallowing the fear building in her throat, she breathed slowly. Someone had to see what was happening. She craned her neck, stared at the terminal doors, and willed someone to step from the building and frighten the man away. Inside, there’d been guards. Where were they now?
The man and his dark beady eyes stopped within knife striking distance.
“Get me the package.”
“What?” His thickly accented English confused her, however, even in her panic she couldn’t help but notice his eyes peering holes in her cardboard box.
She clutched the box containing her “survival” vest, a vest of many pockets filled with everything needed to get out of any situation, and shook her head. “You can’t have my vest.” She’d die before giving up her security armament. She’d had in her possession a facsimile of this vest since she was ten. The contents had helped her out of several mishaps. With shaking fingers, she dug into the side pocket of her broomstick skirt for the centavos she had at the ready for the taxi. “I’ll give you this.” She held out her hand, palm up, showing him the coins.
Yellow teeth, pointed as a spider monkey’s, punctuated the malice in his smile. “No money. I want package.”
Indignation stirred her blood. The items in the box could mean the difference between life and death in the jungle. She stared at the man and the knife. Are the contents of the box worth losing my life right now? Not finishing her genealogy project would be the same as death. She had to help Virgil and get the money to fund her project.
She weighed the options. Maybe if I show him there’s nothing of value in the box he’ll take the centavos and leave.
She tipped her package toward the man. “See, ‘Doctor Isabella Mumphrey’. That’s me and this is my box. There’s nothing in it you could possibly want.”
His dark beady eyes peered at the box and back to her. The stare down was getting them nowhere. Twenty-four hours of travel and the rush to get ready beforehand had netted her little sleep and an anxious demeanor. All I want is a hot bath and a bed before I step into the jungle tomorrow. She shifted into her most obstinate glare, allowing irritation to pulse from her eyeballs.
The man’s face darkened with exasperation, and he jerked the knife toward the package. “Get it to me.”
Annoyance overrode exhaustion and
fear. “Fine, I’ll show you there’s nothing in here you’d want.” She jerked her free arm out of the backpack strap.
The weight of the pack dropping off her shoulder spun her body and swung the bag. The pack hit her assailant’s hand with force, knocking the knife to the ground and flinging her box to the concrete six feet away.
The tape popped loose, spilling a dozen small blue books across the gray concrete. The word ‘Passport’ caught her eye before the man scrambled about gathering the books into the box.
Passports? How did those get into my box and what happened to my vest and survival items?
“What? How…” By the time she’d raced through all the possible scenarios of how a switch might have occurred along the route, the man ran down the street with her box under his arm.
“Hey! Wait!” With mixed disbelief and horror she watched the man dive into a four-by-four truck and speed off.
How did my things get switched for passports? Reporting her items missing would throw suspicion on her. And she didn’t have a clue at which layover—Phoenix, Miami, or Guatemala City—the switch took place. Frustration buffeted her temples. “I need my gear if I’m going into the jungle.” Insecurity inched up her backbone. Without her vest she couldn’t set foot in the jungle. Couldn’t get to Virgil and secure her funding.
Two security guards strode out the airport doors, snapping her attention to the deadly weapon at her feet.
In one quick motion, she snatched the assailant’s knife off the ground and slipped her backpack up onto her shoulder. She gripped the knife handle and held the weapon hidden in the folds of her flowing skirt. Being tossed in a Guatemalan jail would hinder her chance to get the tablet deciphered and back to the states in time to save her department. And it darn sure wouldn’t be good for her health.
9 Ways to Fall in Love Page 83
