by Tina Donahue
Liz’s jaw tensed as she gritted her teeth. She released her weight into him and rolled her forehead over his shoulder, her body shivering as he continued to stroke her nub. Already primed for her climax, she came within seconds, huffing out her breath.
Those small bursts of air warmed his chest more than the heated water and the room’s toasty temperature. Zeke ached to experience moments like this for the rest of his days. He hoped they’d be long. Right now, an eternity didn’t seem adequate enough. He caressed Liz far more gently than he would have liked, fearful of harming her. His desire was that acute. “Tired?”
She muttered, “Don’t you dare make me lift my arms.”
He chuckled. “I won’t.” He kissed the top of her head and her damp temple. “This time, I want you to lift your legs.”
“Oh, screw that.”
“Come on, be a good girl.”
She didn’t respond.
“Or be bad,” he joked. “In fact, I think I’d like that—”
He didn’t finish, couldn’t as Liz dropped to her knees.
Zeke grabbed her arm to break her fall—if that was what it was—but her skin was slick with water and soap, not allowing him a firm grip. His throat tightened with panic, rasping his voice. “Hey, are you all right?”
She sat back on her heels, the water bubbling around her breasts, and tilted her face to his. “What do you think?”
Zeke couldn’t answer. First, she’d stolen his breath because he thought she’d fallen from dizziness or worse. Now, she cupped his balls in one hand and cradled his cock with the other.
He inhaled sharply.
She murmured, “My turn to wash you.”
She ran her tongue up his length, tracing the prominent veins on his shaft. Zeke felt those licks clear to the top of his head and the tips of his toes. A strangled sound burst from him.
It clearly encouraged her. She swirled her tongue over his crown, pausing to explore the small slit at the top before moving to the bumpy skin on the back.
So many sensations dashed through Zeke, he made noises that sounded more animal than human.
Liz sighed contentedly, then took his full length into her mouth, not stopping until the tip of her nose touched his dark curls.
Zeke gripped her hair, tugging it as he groaned his approval. Every part of his body registered his delight.
She intensified it, fondling his balls, working her mouth up and down his rod, encouraging him to climax. When he resisted, wanting this to go on for days—willing to settle for a few hours—Liz resolved the matter. She stroked his anus, then worked the tip of her forefinger into the tight ring.
Holy mother, goddamned—
Zeke bellowed his delight, his climax explosive.
Far more subdued and fully in charge of his body, Liz accepted his come, drinking it eagerly. When there was no more, she released his cock, pulled her finger from his anus and suckled his right ball.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Don’t,” he sputtered, then growled, “I can’t stand it.”
Immediately, she released him. “I know.”
His shoulders trembled with his heaving breaths. In between them, he coughed.
Liz watched as he settled down. “Better?”
“Maybe.” He shuddered and filled his lungs again, then sighed the air out. “Yeah.”
“Sure?”
He was finally. “Uh-huh.”
“Good.” She took his left ball into her mouth.
Crap. “Stop.”
This time she did not, suckling him at her leisure, loving this part of him with her hot mouth and deliciously wet tongue.
He pulled his hair this time, not caring if he tore it out. She was fucking killing him. He cursed and groaned, then bitched some more when he couldn’t drag in adequate air. Breathing was just too fucking hard. His muscles ached from all the tension. He’d locked his knees to the point where bending them again might prove impossible.
Still, Liz continued. Her licks slow and sensuous, her hands roaming up and down his thighs, over his ass, in the furrow between the cheeks.
Jesus. When Zeke thought he might die from too much pleasure, Liz finally finished. She wrapped her arms around his legs and rested her head against his thigh, her embrace as needy as his when he’d caressed her earlier.
A wonderful moment, simply miraculous.
Eventually, they’d ended up in his bed with him on top of her. For Zeke, only the missionary position would do. During the following hours, he’d taken her three more times, remaining inside her sweet, tight cunt as he rested. He needed to see her face, gauge her reactions, assure himself that she continued to be all right.
With each act of love, they’d both grown more weary. However, their attention never strayed. They regarded each other in silence that they interrupted with nothing more than a few gentle smiles. The quiet intimacy not only felt right but comfortable.
Liz finally fell asleep. Zeke couldn’t. Uncertainty continued to eat at him, growing as the minutes ticked by. Given how his belly was now growling, coupled with his increasing hunger, he figured it had to be well past sunrise. Not only time for breakfast, but answers.
As gently as he could, Zeke eased away from Liz. Her hand fell to the mattress. She sighed deeply but didn’t wake up.
He left the bed, repeatedly glancing over to check on her as he grabbed a fresh tee and jeans from one of the nightstands. While he dressed, snatches of his vision returned. Blood clinging to the blade of a knife. A woman’s hand holding—brandishing it?
Zeke padded to the bed. He studied Liz’s hands, trying to match them with the remembered image in his mind. The skin color might be the same, but the nails were wrong. He couldn’t figure it out until he recalled seeing a glimpse of the thumb. The nail was dark. Polished? With what color? A deep red? Black?
His memory refused to give up more details on the matter, while another disturbed him.
Who was the young man dressed in denim, his clothing coated with dust? Did he know the woman with the switchblade? What did they have to do with anything that had already happened or would?
Before Liz had come into his life, Zeke’s visions had never shown him what might happen to someone he loved. He’d had no warning about Gabrielle’s murder or any when Jacob had been wounded that first time. The fucking visions revealed only possible attacks on Zeke, or what would occur to his enemies, people he hated. Now, though…
He’d seen what was supposed to have happened to Jacob last night and had prevented it. Barely. He hadn’t even come close to saving Liz.
Agitated, Zeke backed up to the door, his attention never leaving her. Liz’s chest rose and fell with her quiet, untroubled breathing. Zeke hated to leave her, a part of him feared it even without any warning vision, but there was no choice.
In the hall, he debated where to go first, deciding on Jacob’s room.
Empty. Bullet holes marred the limestone walls, the nightstands and door from when Carreon’s men had been in here. Frowning, Zeke hurried to the lower level, the communal dining area. Heavenly aromas of freshly brewed coffee, bacon, ham, apple-cinnamon muffins filled the enormous room. Several of the young women and older men ate in groups.
A few weeks ago, they would have given him a welcoming smile or called out in greeting. Not today. They stared as if he were the Ghost of Christmas Future, come to do them harm, or to invite them to the meeting he’d promised them last night, which he’d offered only to settle things down. As if they already knew that, they shut him out and focused on their meals.
At a table near the back, Jacob sat alone, his coffee cup stalled a few inches from his mouth. His attention flitted from Zeke to the others, their cool reception.
Zeke joined his brother. “How’s your leg?”
Jacob put his cup on the table. It make a small clacking sound that seemed too loud, given the sudden silence in here, the suspended conversations. “Fine. No problems.”
“And the jaw?”
A nasty brui
se had blossomed on the side of his face. During the battle with Carreon’s men, Zeke had slugged Jacob to keep him from being foolishly brave, getting himself shot again, then killed just as Zeke’s vision had shown. Jacob had taken the first bullet while trying to protect Kele.
He’d been prepared to die last night. Just as he had weeks earlier when he’d put himself in harm’s way, saving Zeke from an ambush by Carreon’s men. An event not forewarned by any vision. Those pricks had nearly killed Jacob and ultimately caused Zeke to kidnap Liz and bring her here to heal him.
Zeke’s head spun with the unintended consequences of that act—some of them being very good, some not so much.
Jacob gave him an uncharacteristically sheepish shrug as though he felt responsible for the bad crap. “I’ll live.”
“That was the point—the reason I hit you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Not expecting such an agreeable response, Zeke wondered what was up with his brother but didn’t have time to get into it now. He pulled out a chair and sat, then leaned closer so they could speak without anyone overhearing. “Is Dr. Munez up yet?”
“I haven’t seen him.”
“What room is he in?”
“Bartholomew’s.”
A pang of sorrow twisted Zeke’s gut. Bartholomew had been one of the men who’d rescued Zeke and Liz from Carreon’s stronghold but never made it out. Rather than ending up a prisoner, tortured into revealing anything about their clan, Bartholomew had turned his gun on himself.
“He was a good man,” Jacob said.
“The best.” Zeke cleared his throat to steady his voice. “I need to speak to Liz’s father. While I do, I want you to keep an eye on her. Bring her some fresh clothes. Make certain she gets something to eat.”
Jacob’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and more than a little apprehension. Before last night’s battle, he and Zeke had argued about Liz. Jacob wanted Zeke to share her. He’d refused, telling his younger brother that she was his, always would be.
Clearly, Jacob had finally gotten the message. But why? All of his life, Jacob had competed with Zeke as though he needed to prove he was as good, worthy, whatever.
Zeke knew Jacob was and had tried to tell him that repeatedly. Jacob had never listened. Had never believed. What had caused the change in him now?
He stabbed his fork into his scrambled eggs, focusing on them, not Zeke. “Are you afraid Kele, Isabel or one of the other women might say something pissy to Liz if they take her that stuff?”
“No.” At least that wasn’t his greatest worry. “She’ll accept it more easily if you bring it. Liz trusts you. Does Kele ever wear nail polish?”
Jacob stopped playing with his food. “What?”
“Nail polish. Does she ever wear it?” Was it her hand Zeke had seen in his vision? Had her jealousy returned over Jacob wanting Liz, or had it never left? Oh shit, was it Liz’s blood on the knife’s—
No fucking way. Don’t think that.
Kele had risked her life last night against Carreon’s men, no different from Zeke and Jacob. Hours before, she’d stood with them against the rest of the clan. She wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, no matter how much she wanted his brother. If Zeke ever allowed himself to believe anything different, she’d have to leave the clan. And go where? How far would she get before Carreon’s men took her down?
“I don’t recall,” Jacob said.
It took Zeke a minute to catch up. When he did, he frowned. “You’ve slept with Kele for years and you don’t know if she ever paints her nails?”
“No, I don’t,” he shot back, a bit of his usual defiance returning. “What’s it matter anyway?”
Zeke didn’t want to get into it. “Where’s she now?”
Jacob lifted his fork, pointing it toward the business end of the kitchen.
Craning his neck, Zeke saw Kele helping the other ladies with the food preparation, Isabel included. None of them was speaking or looked particularly happy. He leaned forward a bit farther to see if he could make out Kele’s nails. Unfortunately, he couldn’t.
“What are you doing?” Jacob asked.
“Nothing.” Zeke leaned back in his seat. As long as Kele was scrambling eggs, she couldn’t do any harm. There were knives in the kitchen, sure. However, none of them was the switchblade he’d seen in his vision. Recalling it allowed him to relax, crazy as that seemed. “Keep an eye on Liz. I don’t want her healing anyone. Those times when I’m not around, make certain she doesn’t.”
“Why?” He screwed up his face. “She’s a healer.”
“Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is. I need to speak to her father about it.”
“Why?” Jacob’s expression changed, mirroring Zeke’s concern. He leaned closer and whispered, “What the hell happened while you two were gone?”
Zeke’s belly cramped. “Carreon murdered Liz.”
Jacob’s mouth fell open.
“Try not to look so shocked,” Zeke muttered. “The others may notice.”
His brother regarded the room. The majority of those in here had their backs to him and Zeke. Those that didn’t were doing their best to ignore both of them.
“Are you serious?” Jacob whispered. “You can’t be. How could he have murdered her if she’s here?”
“He strangled her, just as I’d seen in my visions before I’d even met her. I found Liz in his stronghold’s safe room. Her face was this horrible purple shade. There was no pulse.”
“There had to be. Maybe you just didn’t feel—”
“There was no heartbeat, Jacob. None. Don’t you think I’d know if there was? Don’t you think I would have tried to resuscitate her, give her CPR or something if there was the slightest chance? It was too fucking late. She was gone.”
Jacob’s rich complexion went gray. “Then how in the hell did—”
“She and her father aren’t only able to heal, they can reanimate the dead. I saw her father do it with her.”
Jacob whistled through his teeth. “Shit.”
“Something’s not right.”
“With what?”
Liz. What happened to her in the Jeep continued to haunt Zeke. “That’s what I need to find out from her father. Until I return, do not allow her to heal, no matter how small the injury might be. And no way should she try to reanimate anyone.”
Jacob shook his head as though he was having trouble comprehending this. “The only ones she could bring back from the dead or heal are Carreon’s men. The two we took prisoner weren’t injured, and the others…” He paused, then continued, “We’ve already taken care of the bodies. What?” he asked suddenly. “You look weird. Why?”
Zeke recalled part of his vision, again of the young man with the dark hair. Was he one of the men they’d captured? How could that be? The vision showed him outside. Had he escaped? “Is anyone guarding the prisoners?”
“Are you serious? They won’t get out unless we let them. Our guys know what they’re doing.” Jacob spoke even faster, “They hacked into the bastards’ smart phones and the system they had on their vehicles. Anything hooked up to a server or satellite. Took all that shit down so the others still out there can’t use the data to find this place.”
Zeke wished he had known that before going back to Carreon’s stronghold to wipe the Jeep’s GPS clean. He knew he should have felt bad about ambushing those three men. However, if he hadn’t, they would have come back here, wouldn’t they? They would have done to Liz, her father and Zeke’s clan what they’d done to Gabrielle. “Good.”
Jacob spoke at an even lower pitch than he had before. “Did Liz’s reanimation cause the healing to somehow reverse? Shit, does her touch kill now rather than heal?”
“No.” Zeke stood. “Just do as I say, right now. For Liz, all right?”
Jacob’s cheeks darkened with his blush. A reminder of his desire for her. He seemed uneasy—again out of character for him.
Before Zeke could ask why, Jacob nodded and stood. “I’d
never let anything happen to her.”
“I know.” Zeke squeezed his brother’s shoulder in gratitude, then left the room.
They weren’t only able to heal the injured, they could reanimate. Both Liz and her father were able to bring back the dead.
And they’d kept that ability from him.
Carreon bristled with fury. He recalled how Dr. Munez had put on a show as he’d struggled to heal Oscar and Anthony, two of Carreon’s most dedicated and important lieutenants. Young men who killed with impunity at his command.
They weren’t dead, yet Munez had claimed they’d been too injured to heal fully. They’d sustained so much blood loss, the only outcome would be brain damage.
Carreon remembered the men’s vacant stares, their slack limbs. Even when he demanded that Munez bring them back to what they’d been, the good doctor claimed he could not. With Anthony and Oscar useless to him, Carreon ordered his other lieutenants to take them into the desert, leaving them to their unfortunate fates.
It had been a lie. A fucking con. And now, Zeke Neekoma had Liz and her father’s gift at his disposal.
Carreon stared at the cell phone on Ernez’s desk, willing it to ring with news he wanted to hear. It did not. At last, he made the call.
“What’s taking so long?” he asked in response to Victor’s hello. “Surely, you’ve found something by now.”
He’d ordered the man and Roberto to locate Zeke’s stronghold, hidden within the vast New Mexico landscape. He’d told Roberto not to harm Zeke in the least once they captured him. Carreon wanted to witness the torture.
Victor said nothing. All Carreon heard in the background was a bird’s squawking, which put the man outside his vehicle. Why? Had they found something?
“Answer me,” Carreon ordered.
Victor spoke haltingly. “Most of the men who’d gone to Neekoma’s stronghold last night haven’t returned. They’re either dead or prisoners.”
Carreon gripped the phone so hard the plastic groaned. “Most?”
“Roberto and I just found three of our men.”
“Where?”
“A few miles east of your stronghold. In their vehicle. Dead. Shot.” He offered their names.
