Rising Darkness gos-1

by Thea Harrison

  But she would never have another lover. Only him. They did not have to say it to each other. He already knew.

  He parted her farther and found the delicate, stiff little nubbin of flesh seated at the heart of her pleasure, and he put his mouth to it.

  A small scream broke out of her, and her torso lifted off the bed, and the intensity of his own reaction astonished him. He grew hard again as he licked and suckled her and listened to the incoherent, uncontrolled sounds of her pleasure.

  When the urge to penetrate became too much to ignore, he slid first one finger into her, then another. Her inner muscles tightened on him. He lost himself in the sumptuousness of it, fucking her tenderly, his fingers gliding in and out of her wet, hidden sheath as he massaged her clitoris with his tongue.

  He could feel her climax. Her inner muscles clenched on his fingers. Then the rippling began, and she shook as though she would fly apart at the seams. She cupped the back of his head, holding him to her, and he complied, licking at her rhythmically until she screamed and climaxed again.

  Then he could not stand it any longer. He rose up and reached for another condom, rolling it over his erection with hands that shook with urgency. As he came down to her, she was already reaching for him to guide him into place.

  Gentleness fled, along with his control. He thrust hard and impaled her. She tilted her head back and cried out again, wrapping her legs around his hips. Elbows planted on either side of her head, he succumbed to barbarity and sank his fists into her fabulous, wild hair, pinning her down as he moved inside of her, harder and faster, until his own climax twisted him up. The pleasure was excruciating, necessary.

  All the while he watched her face, her beautiful face. Her lips were parted, her gaze blind, as she stared inward, focused on what he was doing to her.

  I am the only one, he thought. The only one who has driven you to this extremity. The only one who has given you this kind of pleasure, this completion.

  And by God, I am going to be the last lover you will ever take.

  The very last, and only one.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  THEY SQUANDERED THEIR veritable wealth in minutes, their staggering fortune in seconds, on pleasuring each other. Then, as the last of the coals in the fireplace faded and the darkness was complete, they fell asleep. The last thing Mary knew was Michael resting his head on her shoulder, his big body sprawled over hers, a heavy, reassuring weight.

  She woke suddenly with a hand clamped over her mouth. Predawn filtered into the cabin, turning everything bleak and gray. Michael leaned over her, his broad, naked shoulders and head in silhouette. Her heart kicked. Staring up at him, she gripped his thick, strong wrist with both hands.

  His shadowed gaze was the polished steel of a drawn sword.

  “Get dressed,” he said. “Hurry.”

  She nodded. He rolled out of bed in one smooth, lithe motion. When she scrambled across the bed and would have risen, he gripped her shoulder. “Be careful. I kept the trees tall around the cabin on purpose, but long-range rifles can be remarkably accurate. Don’t take a chance and stand in front of the windows.”

  She nodded again, slid to the floor and scurried in a crouch toward the dresser where she had left her clean, dried clothes. As she went she saw Michael out of the corner of her eye. He stood at the table and had already slipped on a T-shirt and his shoes. He strapped the sheath of a long knife to his thigh. The assault rifle lay within his reach.

  She tore into her clothes, cursing her slow shaking fingers, and wriggled into her sweatshirt. As she yanked her shoes on and tied them, she heard a hawk scream outside. Her head lifted. When she had been attacked, she had heard that same sound coming from a countless number of hawks. There was no time to braid back her hair. She yanked it into a ponytail.

  Michael strapped the sword to his back. Then he settled two belts of magazine clips across his shoulders. His expression was calm, even peaceful. She took one look at him and a fresh wave of dread threatened to buckle her knees. What did he know that would make him arm himself like that?

  He pivoted toward her. “All right,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”

  He grabbed her with one hand. With the other he reached for the vest hanging on the back of a chair. “What are you doing?” she said. With an effort she kept her voice as quiet as his. “What’s going on? What do you know?”

  “Meet Kevlar. It’s your new best friend,” he said. He didn’t wait for her to do it herself. He began to stuff her into the vest. It was far too big for her and felt strange, thick and stiff and heavy. “We have problems coming our way. Right now they think they’re being sneaky. You’re going to take your gun and slip out the back bathroom window. That path I told you about, the one that leads north to the lake—there’s an opening in the back clearing. It’s not very noticeable. I’ve kept that overgrown too. You’re going to take the path, skirt the lake and keep going north. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

  “No,” she said. She gripped his forearm. The corded muscle felt as hard as marble under her fingers. “We’ll both go. Michael, let’s just run.”

  “They would follow,” he said. “Then we would have to fight them a quarter of a mile from here, or a half a mile from here, and I wouldn’t have the advantage of the cabin or familiar ground for cover.” He grabbed her other arm and tried to force it through the second armhole. “You need to go. I need to stay.”

  “Stop it,” she said. She twisted away from him and slipped out of the vest. “I’m not going.”

  He took her by the shoulders and jerked her toward him. “Don’t do this,” he growled in her face. “We don’t have time to argue. They haven’t circled around the cabin yet but they will. You are getting out of here.”

  “I can’t just leave you!” she snapped. “I need to help.”

  He said with rapid force, point-blank in her face, “If you need to help then you will leave. Now. You’re a liability if you stay.” He grabbed the vest from the floor and began to stuff her back into it. “You’re a doctor, not a soldier. You don’t know how to fight, and we’ve had no chance to really train together. You’re vulnerable, and you’re a target. I need you to protect yourself so I can be free to do what I need to do. Otherwise I’m expending all my energy trying to protect you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said. She foiled his efforts by going limp, slithered out of the vest and sat down hard on the floor. He glared at her. She pointed to the vest. “I’m not wearing that. It’s too big. You make sense. I’ll go. But only if you wear the vest. Don’t argue with me about this. It’s a waste of time.”

  Looking furious, he dropped the vest and hauled her to her feet, scooped up two spare clips and slapped them in her hand. As she stuffed them into her pocket, he grabbed the nine-millimeter, marched her to the bathroom, unlatched the high window above the bathtub and opened it wide. He dropped the gun outside and swung her into his arms.

  Her gaze swam with unshed tears. She ordered, “You put the vest on when I’m gone, do you hear?”

  “You’re quite the tyrant, aren’t you?” he said, his face grim.

  “Yes.” Her fingers twisted in his T-shirt. “I mean it, Michael. Put the vest on.”

  “Fine.” He gave her a brief, hard kiss then he raised her to the window feet first.

  She wiggled through the space as he pushed her, turning so that she rested on her stomach as she hung halfway out of the window. She grabbed his muscled forearms.

  “I’m going to be really pissed at you if you get yourself killed,” she warned. “Don’t think I won’t find a way to hunt your ghost down and kick your ass.”

  He kissed her again and stared hard into her eyes. “I’ll see you soon. GO.”

  He grasped her by the upper arms and helped to control her descent to the ground. As soon as she gained her footing, she searched for the gun and found it, and looked at the window as she straightened.

  He lingered long enough to point in the direction of the
path. She saw the subtle break in the bushes and nodded. During target practice yesterday, she hadn’t even noticed it. He passed a hand over her hair in one last caress and disappeared inside.

  She looked at the tangled greenery and took a deep breath.

  That was an awfully big, strange forest. Whatever was sneaking toward the cabin would be crawling right through it. She could be intercepted on the path to the lake.

  Despite all promises or common sense she nearly tried to crawl back through the window. Then she saw a speckled kestrel perched in a maple tree by the path. It tilted its head, focused a huge amber eye on her and mantled its wings. It was such a fierce little thing that, in spite of everything, she almost smiled.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “I guess it’s just you and me for a while, kid.”

  She stepped onto the path, such as it was. It was narrow and as overgrown as the clearing. From a few feet away, she wouldn’t be able to see it. The kestrel took wing and followed.

  When she rounded a curve, a transparent, shimmering form of a man stood in front of her. She jerked to a halt in dismay, for she had already been caught.

  The form held out a hand in greeting. Peace. I’m here to help.

  She stared. The figure bore none of the malevolence of any of the dark creatures she had encountered. It seemed to wait patiently until she recovered her composure.

  She squinted as she tried to see the man more clearly. He was much taller than she was, as tall as Michael. She received an impression of black military-short hair, hawkish features and the glitter of intelligent, dark eyes, but no matter how she tried, she could not bring him into the kind of sharp focus with which she had seen Astra in the Grotto or other creatures from the psychic realm. He was different in some fundamental way.

  Who are you? she asked.

  I am a compatriot of Michael’s, the man said. My name is Nicholas Crow. After I was killed, I stayed to watch at my post, but the Dark One is not there. He’s here.

  This was Nicholas? Her astonishment at meeting the ghost was outmatched by an upsurge of panic.

  The Dark One. Nicholas meant the Deceiver. Somehow he had found them. Despite their best efforts, someone had noticed something, or in their preoccupation with their own internal crises, they had let some small thing slip.

  He was here.

  Come, said Nicholas. He turned and appeared to run down the path.

  The kestrel swooped in front of her, eyed her fiercely and flew after the ghost.

  Clutching the gun in one hand, she shook her head and ran after both of them.

  * * *

  WITH A FEROCIOUS sense of relief, Michael watched as Mary disappeared down the path to the lake. Once he was alone he almost didn’t take the time to put on the vest, but then he hesitated. He had known how hard it was for her to leave him, but she had kept her word. He didn’t want her to find out later that he hadn’t kept his.

  Moving fast, he stripped off the ammunition and the sword, shrugged on the vest and yanked the Velcro edges into place. The weight of the vest was so familiar to him that he barely noticed it.

  He slung the sword in its scabbard onto his back and adjusted the ammunition belts across his chest again. Finally he reached into his weapons bag and pulled out his throwing stars, which were stored in protective leather wrist guards. He fastened those onto each thick muscled wrist.

  He could have armed himself in his sleep. All his preparations were automatic. He focused most of his attention somewhere else.

  He had set three guardians to watch while they had slept. One now traveled with Mary. It took only a moment to connect mentally with the kestrel and to confirm they were safely on the path and moving away from the area.

  They traveled with someone else.

  He narrowed his eyes. The kestrel was fast moving out of contact range, and he could not make sense of what it saw. The only things he could tell was that whoever was with them was not embodied and meant to help, not harm.

  They were no longer in physical contact with each other, as they had been in the car, and unlike their encounter with the dragon at the gas station, they were both embodied, but they could still speak to each other.

  He said, Mary.

  He could sense her astonishment at yet another new concept, but she overcame it quickly. Yes?

  I know someone has joined you, but I can’t tell who it is.

  It’s Nicholas. He said he came to help.

  Good, he said. That’s very good.

  Despite their situation, he found room for a wry smile. Nicholas was far more generous than he. If their roles were reversed, Michael would not risk himself for the other man. Too much depended on him.

  He turned his attention to the other two hawks circling overhead. Hawks did not count like humans. With some effort and a few educated questions, he was able to translate their responses into a rough head count.

  They responded twenty times when he asked them to identify a new enemy. So he had twenty problems approaching on foot, along with a black vehicle that held an unknown number of occupants as it quietly purred down the gravel road toward the cabin.

  Three problems were thirty yards away and closing fast.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he exhaled he put himself in his meditative state of mindfulness. He acknowledged all sensory input then let it pass through him, neither clinging to details nor ignoring them.

  From that still quiet place, he expanded and heightened his awareness to include the cabin and the surrounding area. As his awareness expanded, his center remained calm and detached, a pool filled with infinite peace. It was the eye of a hurricane.

  There—and there—and there were his three nearest problems.

  Two problems crept close on either side of the cabin’s gravel driveway. The third moved through the woods to get behind the cabin. That one might discover the path to the lake.

  As if he would let that happen.

  He took another deep unhurried breath.

  Then he became the hurricane.

  Sprinting out the cabin door, he pivoted on one heel, leaped for the roof of the porch and landed in a half crouch on the balls of his feet. He scanned the nearby forest in the direction of the third problem. There was a tree twenty feet away that was large and sturdy enough to bear his weight. He raced across the cabin roof and leaped to the nearest heavy branch, ignoring the leaves and smaller branches that whipped across his face and arms.

  The problem closest to the path lifted his head and his gun at the sudden, heavy rustling overhead. He searched with calm efficiency among the nearby trees. One of Michael’s throwing stars sliced the air and embedded in his forehead, and he died.

  The other two heard nothing unusual, except perhaps for a sudden gust of wind rustling through the trees.

  Agile as a cat, Michael leaped to the ground. All his physical movements were enhanced and strengthened beyond the capacity of a normal human, directed by the powerful spirit housed in his body. He took three running steps and vaulted high into the boughs of the large pine tree by the drive. In his mind’s eye, he tracked the energy signature of the man closest to him. He took aim and launched his second throwing star without ever physically laying eyes on the man.

  The star took the second problem in the throat, who died almost instantly.

  Almost was not quite fast enough. The man’s grip convulsed. Gunfire sprayed the forest as he fell. That was unfortunate, Michael thought, but inevitable. Sooner or later the fight had to get noisy.

  The third man spoke into his headset in an urgent rapid undertone.

  Mary said in his head, Michael?

  Yes? His reply was as calm as hers was shaken.

  The third man twisted to dive for cover in thick underbrush. He spun around and shot the man in the temple before he’d taken two steps.

  Mary said, I heard shots. Are you all right? I’m sorry. I know you must be busy. I shouldn’t be bothering you, but—

  Her fear beat at him through the
telepathic contact. He kept his mental voice unhurried and soothing. I’m quite fine. We can be overheard. Don’t say anything telepathic that should be confidential. Just keep doing what you’re doing.

  Okay. I’m sorry. God. Her stress strained their connection.

  Mary, he said. He scanned the area for signs of the other problems. I haven’t even broken into a sweat.

  Yet.

  Yes. I’ll go now.

  She sounded so perfectly wretched he pitied her. He would be in as bad or worse shape if he were in her shoes, hearing gunfire in her vicinity and unable to do anything. But she was going to have to deal with it. He didn’t have any more time to spare for her, because something was amassing from the direction of the black vehicle.

  It was an amalgamation of power, like the towering buildup of a funnel cloud.

  He put one hand on the trunk of a nearby tree and leaned on it. Neither side had yet been surprised except, perhaps, for the three dead men and Mary. The black vehicle held his real problem. His real problem had thrown those first men at him as cannon fodder, just to tickle him to see if he was paying attention.

  The form of a young, dark-haired woman shimmered into place beside him.

  He turned his head and looked at Astra’s crystalline form. She looked both furious and terrified.

  They stared at each other. He gave her a resigned shrug.

  She snapped, I told you that you shouldn’t have stopped moving!

  He could have said a lot of things in reply.

  He could have said that he had been tired and the sexy blonde had flirted with him and had said pretty please.

  Or he could also have said that even if they hadn’t stopped, their enemy still might have found them. Michael had found Mary so late in the game, while the Deceiver had been so close behind them.

  Each statement contained a facet of the truth, and none of it mattered anymore.

  And, really, there wasn’t any point in arguing with Astra or kicking himself since somebody else already wanted to do it so badly.