Burning Darkness

by Jaime Rush

  “But you did. You took a chance by giving it to Eric.”

  He met her furious glare with his neutral one. “You called me for help. That was the only help I could give you.”

  “I’m grateful—I am. I’m just afraid to lose him.”

  Magnus took a few steps back toward the door. “I’ve got a video of my father talking about Blue Moon, how he found it. If you want to watch it . . .”

  She was shaking her head. “I don’t want to leave Eric. Later. I’d like to watch it later.”

  “All right.” He had a curious frown on his face. “When you were here only two nights ago, you made it very clear that you didn’t think much of Eric. In fact, you seemed angry with him, said he’d killed your boyfriend. Now I see something very different in your eyes as you watch him. I see fear and grief and—”

  “I forgave him,” she said, not wanting to hear what else Magnus thought he saw. A lot had changed since they were last here, and it was that scene in the closet that had started it.

  He nodded, then turned toward Lachlan. “Forgiveness is a powerful thing. It transforms and transcends. You’d be well served to think on that.” He turned back to her. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Press the button on the intercom system if you need me.”

  A moment after he left, Eric’s phone rang. It was plugged in to charge, and she walked over to the dresser to answer it.

  “Fonda, it’s Amy. How’s Eric?”

  “The same. When you gave Lucas the antidote, did he sweat and not move and then all of a sudden thrash around?”

  “Yes, though he didn’t stay asleep for twenty-four hours solid. He was groggy and fell back asleep a few times over the next day.”

  “He’s mad at you for giving him the antidote, isn’t he?”

  “Was mad,” Amy said. “Whatever you said to him earlier softened him. What did you say?”

  “Just that I didn’t want Eric to die, and wasn’t it worth doing whatever I could to save him?”

  “It is worth it. Eric’s never been keen on the antidote either, but hopefully he’ll understand and get over it. Then again, I am talking about the most stubborn man on earth.” Silence for a moment. “You care about him, don’t you?”

  Fonda looked at him and felt something in her heart shift. “He saved my life. I owe him.”

  Amy chuckled. “Oh, so that’s the reason.” She didn’t sound convinced, but before Fonda could say more to convince her, Amy said, “Talk to him. I told Lucas how much I loved him, to please come back to me because I needed him. I don’t know whether it helped or not, but I’d like to think it did.”

  “I will.”

  “Eric wanted me to ask my uncle about anyone else who was in the original program. Cyrus is dead, but I can talk to him when I’m brave enough. He said there were no others in the program besides the ones we know about. So whoever this Westerfield is, he’s something entirely different.”

  “Great.”

  “Yeah, isn’t it? Keep in touch. We’re so tense around here, a sneeze could blow us apart. First those guys out there and now Eric. We need him—and you—to find out what’s going on. Tell him that. And tell him we love him.”

  “I will.”

  Fonda disconnected and sat back down next to Eric. She dipped the cloth in the bowl of cool water and wiped it across his brow. “Eric, you’d better come back. In one piece. Mentally.”

  That last word struck fear into her. What if he came back but was not wholly himself?

  “Magnus seems fine,” she went on. “And it sounds like Lucas and Amy are okay, or at least a little better.” She leaned closer to Eric’s ear. “You’ll be fine, too. Amy sends her love. And Petra. All of them.” She laid her head down next to him as she sat in a chair beside the bed. “You are loved, Eric. And I . . . I need you. Don’t make me do this alone.” She stroked the line of his jaw, willing him to feel it. “I’m scared. There, I admitted it. I’m scared of these people who are hunting us, and of you dying, and I’m scared . . . of never talking to you again. Never kissing you again.”

  There was something about seeing a big strong man in a helpless position that reached beneath all her defenses, like smoke creeping under a door.

  She started to run the washcloth over his head but stopped and put her hand on his forehead. He wasn’t hot anymore. She pressed her finger against his pulse point. Still beating. Relief washed over her, even though she hadn’t let herself think he was . . .

  She dropped the cloth into the bucket and watched him. Just as Magnus had predicted, chill bumps rose on Eric’s skin. Progress. Maybe. She turned the thermostat up to a higher setting, then returned and pulled up the blanket and tucked it over his shoulders, which left her face-to-face with him. Nose-to-nose. She kissed it. Even his nose was cool. His cheeks. His lips.

  His mouth moved slightly beneath hers. Just a reflex, but it still sharpened her heartbeat. Maybe he could feel her. She kissed him again, over his face and then on each eye. Her earrings jangled as they brushed against his neck. She’d never kissed a man like this, and it felt odd. She’d never do it if he were awake. It was too . . . she couldn’t even put a word to it, but if she had to find one, it would have been uncomfortable.

  She smoothed back his hair. He took a deeper breath and turned on his side, in a fetal position. For warmth, she guessed. She slid beneath the blanket, wrapping her arms around him from behind. He wouldn’t remember any of this. Even if on a deep level he felt her or heard her, he wouldn’t consciously remember.

  She tucked her chin over his shoulder, molding her body to his. The warmth in the room stole into her senses, drawing her eyes closed. All of her fear and worry had worn her out. Her fingers flexed against his bare chest, kneading him like a cat. Strange, she’d never done that before. Somehow it gave her comfort, maybe the same way it did for a cat. She didn’t want to fall asleep, in case he needed her. But damn, she was so tired.

  “Eric, come back,” she whispered against his skin.

  His body pressed into her with his every breath. She breathed when he did, in and out, in sync. She drifted into sleep, dreaming of the cold, of waking to find him dead, of being alone in a snow-covered plain. Then the sun came out from behind the clouds, filling her with warmth. The snow melted, and flowers bloomed across the field.

  A figure in the distance walked into view, and she watched as he came closer. Eric! She ran toward him, through waist-high grass and flowers. He held out his arms, and she threw herself into them. Strong, big arms wrapped around her. His erection was hard against her thigh, and she pressed closer, wanting to feel all of his body.

  Eric, Eric, Eric, you’re here.

  His hands slid up beneath her shirt, stroking her back. Finally, a good dream. It amazed her how the dream aroused her physically. Her whole body was alive with energy, flowing through her veins and down to places that throbbed with wanting. She became aware of her body, of the heat and electricity. Aware. How can I be physically aware if I’m asleep?

  I’m not!

  Her eyes flew open. Not a dream. Eric was holding her, sliding his hands over her body, and he was still totally, completely out of it. Well, not completely . . .

  “Eric,” she whispered, and he kissed her, bracing her face with his hands as he had earlier.

  Or . . . Sayre? He’d said that if Sayre came in, his eyes would look blank. Eric’s eyes were still closed, and his body was hot again. The gesture of his holding her face, that was something Eric did. So it was Eric, only Eric.

  No one had told her about this possibility. Hot, cold, but not amorous.

  The room was dark, which meant it was nighttime. She couldn’t see the clock from her angle.

  He felt so good, wrapping her in his arms, kissing her neck and the place beneath her ear. He let out a soft groan and slung his leg over her, pinning her within the bounds of his body. His hands slid down her back, all the way down beneath her pants, each hand nearly covering the whole cheek, and he squeezed. She let out a soft moan. T
ouch me. They slid back up, and one hand threaded up into her hair, anchoring there. The other wrapped around her waist. She was surrounded by his heat, his skin, his scent. Earth, fresh air, and Eric.

  “Eric. Wake up.”

  How wrong was it to want him even if he was deep asleep? She wanted him. Her body was electric, hot and wet with it. She knew he wanted her when he was conscious. Deep in his unconsciousness, he still wanted her.

  Eric, I’ll give you whatever you want. Anything if it might bring you back.

  He kissed her neck, across her collarbone, and then pulled up her shirt to kiss her breasts. She helped by pulling off the top and unhooking her bra. She dug her nails into his shoulders, so ready, so on the edge, that even his tongue swirling around her nipple was about to send her over.

  She watched his face, waiting for some sign that he was coming out. His hands skimmed down her sides, her hips, under the waistband of her pants. She pushed them down, kicking them off with her feet. His fingers found her.

  “Eric,” she whispered.

  Still no sign that he was waking up. She gasped as he traced her folds, slick and ready, then dipped his finger into her. Even in his mindless state it was as though he were preparing her for him. How far would this go? How far would she let it go?

  He groaned and murmured her name. A sweet sound, because it meant he knew her. He hadn’t lost his mind. She wrapped her legs around his waist, which pressed his hardened penis against her pubic area.

  She put her hands on either side of his face. “Eric, we shouldn’t do this . . . Unless it’ll bring you back.”

  She did a quick mental calculation, sure she was past the time she could get pregnant. He’d said he always used condoms. Still . . .

  Okay, she’d let him take it as far as he wanted, go along for the ride and hope it would bring him out. The feel of him grinding against her, oh hell, she wanted him inside her. She wrapped her fingers around his penis, rubbing the tip of him against her opening. With another groan, he pushed in. Slowly, at first, but she slid down on him. Pleasure far outweighed pain. He stretched her, just like he did in other ways. He filled her in a way she’d never felt before. The pleasure radiated out through her whole body, and she arched to press against him even more.

  “Eric . . .”

  She watched his eyes. What if he woke while they were doing this? What would he think?

  He would flow right into it. She moved against him, and they quickly found their rhythm. There was something both edgy and safe about making love like this. His pubic bone pressed in the right place, and she felt the orgasm spill deliciously through her, over her. Her body tightened with it, and her fingers gripped his back.

  They moved together for a long time, bringing on more of those waves of ecstasy. He kissed her as they made love, something different for her. The face-to-face position was usually the most uncomfortable for her psychologically. She liked closing herself in her world, focusing only on the physical sensations. Kissing made the act so much more intimate, but with Eric unaware, she could lose herself in it.

  He came with a burst of power, as though exploding her insides. He gripped her hard against him, groaning the way he had when he was doing sit-ups, his breath coming heavy in her ear.

  She held onto him, wrapped around him as though he were a buoy in a raging ocean. He felt so right, throbbing inside her, like no one else had, and those waves threatened to drown her.

  He curled one hand gently around her neck and pressed his cheek against hers. In the faintest whisper, he said, “I love you, little girl.”

  Her eyes opened as the swell of those words took her dangerously high. She turned to see if he was awake. Eyes closed, a slight smile on his face. Dreaming, then. Had he actually said those words? She thought she’d heard I love you before when it had only been That’s nice to her ugly sweater. She replayed Eric’s faint words in her mind. She couldn’t be sure, couldn’t let herself believe that’s how he felt.

  His body slackened, feeling heavy where he lay on her.

  “Eric.”

  No response. She’d lost him again. Her fingers tightened on his back. Still breathing.

  You shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have let it happen.

  Was it wrong? For him, for her? He probably wouldn’t remember it, but she would. She would never forget the way he felt inside her, the way he made he feel. She whispered words back, words she’d be too afraid to ever tell him otherwise.

  She needed to clean up. She relaxed her body, running her fingers through his soft hair. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to move out of his arms. For now she was safe and happy, and so much more.

  Eric felt as though he’d been in hell for days. Burning up, a vein of fire going from his arm all through his body. A brain synapses-induced play of lights like the Aurora Borealis. When he drifted away from that display, he sometimes heard voices, but he couldn’t move or feel his body. Then he would drift into that strange place again.

  At last he felt his body, and it was connected to something soft and warm. He felt a hand on his chest, the curve of a woman’s body against his back. His mind filled in the image of that woman, with her white-blond hair and doe brown eyes, and before he knew it he was turning over and pulling her into his arms. A dream, or illusion, to taunt him with what he couldn’t have. If this was hell, he’d take this bit of it, because even a taste was better than never having it.

  His hands drank her in, the feel of her skin, the curve of her back and then lower, sliding beneath the waistband of her pants and cupping her small firm ass. His mouth tasted hers; he so was hungry, he wanted to eat her up. He curled his body around her as though he could absorb her. He threaded his fingers into her hair.

  His body drank in the feel of her. An erotic dream, touching her, and then her touching him, and even in the dream he felt the jolt through his body. Then the exquisite feeling of pushing into her, feeling her tighten around him. Her calling out his name. He held onto her as tightly as he held onto the dream, not wanting to lose any of it. When he came, those undulating colors exploded in rays of light, like two stars crashing into each other.

  I love you, little girl. The words crashed in his mind, too, as vivid as the colors.

  The darkness crept in again. No, not yet. This was the hell part, taunt him and then haul him back to the nothingness.

  “Eric.”

  Her pleading voice pulled him back, an inch, and then he slipped again. He opened his mouth to say something, or tried to, but he’d slid away from the controls on his body again.

  He still felt her, their bodies intimately connected, the gossamer feel of her fingers on his face, her voice in his ear.

  “Eric, please come back to me. I need you.” The desperation in her voice tugged him back again. The sound of her breath against his ear, full of angst. “Not because you’re strong. Not because we’ve got bad people after us. I need you because you’re the only person who ever made me feel.”

  A dream? Had to be. Fonda would never say those things to him. He felt himself sliding down the slope into the darkness, mentally scrabbling like a man sliding down a cliff. Fonda in his arms, her words, he would take both with him to hell, and it wouldn’t be quite so bad.

  A knock woke her. Fonda opened her eyes and saw that once again sunlight filled the room. Her first thought was Eric, and she turned to him. He’d thrown off the sheets during the night and wasn’t wrapped around her anymore, but his arm was across her stomach. It felt heavy, warm, and she didn’t want to move yet.

  Magnus stood at the doorway, his brown curls a mass. “Sorry to wake you, but you’ve been asleep since four o’clock yesterday. I left dinner, but you haven’t touched it. You need to eat.”

  She glanced at the dresser where a tray sat, the bread curling up on the sandwich. Then what he said hit her. “I’ve been asleep since four . . . yesterday?”

  He nodded. “You’ve had a hard few days. You obviously needed it.”

  She tried to look at
the clock from her angle without moving Eric’s arm. Eight-thirty.

  Magnus approached the other side of the bed and placed his hand on Eric’s forehead. “Still warm, but not hot. That’s a good sign.”

  “He moved around last night.” She wasn’t about to tell him just how he’d moved. “That’s good, too, right?”

  He smiled, no doubt at her desperation for reassurance. “Yes. He should come out in the next couple of hours. Why don’t you get something to eat? Yes, we have toast and tea. My father was a tea connoisseur.”

  The way he’d said that, as though he’d read her mind . . . “You can read minds, can’t you?” He’d done that before, too, though she’d passed it off as a coincidence. But he was an Offspring, after all.

  His mouth quirked in a smile. “Sorry, it’s such a part of me, I don’t think about it. Just words here and there. I heard ‘tea’ and ‘toast.’ ”

  “Do you get anything from Eric?” She wanted so badly for him to be thinking about something. Unless he was thinking about what they’d done last night; that could be embarrassing.

  “It’s indistinct. But I think he’s thinking about you. I get the sense of you, anyway.”

  Eric’s fingers twitched. She looked at his face, hoping for an awakening. Nothing.

  “Get some nutrition into you. He’s not coming around anytime real soon.”

  She started to slide out from beneath the sheet until she remembered she was naked. “I need a quick shower.”

  He nodded toward their duffel bags. “I brought those in from the truck.”

  She gave him a smile of appreciation.

  “I’ll leave toast, jelly, and tea in the kitchen. It’s down the hall to the left.”

  She showered, checking on Eric before she even dried off. No change. His hand was in the place where she’d been not long ago, as though he’d reached for her. She was too scared, too overwrought, too . . . too involved. She’d only thought she loved Jerryl, and look at what a pitiful mess she’d become. She couldn’t let that happen again. Jerryl had stood up for her at a bar; Eric had saved her life. That kind of thing made her weak in the knees, and worse, in the heart. That’s what Eric did. He wouldn’t let her die, no matter who she was. He was honorable.