by Alyssa Dean
"Repulsive?" He shook his head, his eyes like rich, dark velvet. "There's nothing repulsive about you, babe."
She leaned forward to brush a light kiss across his lips. His arms came up around her, and he began to return the pressure. Then he groaned and gently pushed her back. "Are you sure you want to sleep out here?" she whispered.
He cleared his throat. "Not especially, but I'm going to."
"All right." She sighed, then rose up on her heels. "Remember, we will be lovers. When you're ready, I will be, too."
"Stop that!" He jumped to his feet, hauling her up with him. "I'm only human. I—"
"No, you're not," she interrupted. "We both know it, so you can stop pretending." She tinkled a laugh at the thunderous expression on his face. "Good night."
He was still staring after her as she scampered into the bedroom.
Kent woke up to the sound of someone carefully making as much noise as possible. He opened his eyes and jerked to a sitting position, taking a couple of seconds to figure out where he was, and what was going on. Eaye was flitting around the room, watering plants, talking to them, and moving them around. She picked up a clay flowerpot and set it down with an unnecessarily loud thump, then glanced over at him. "Good morning," she chirped. "Did I wake you up?"
"Wasn't that the idea?" he grumbled groggily. She wore a long brown skirt, a pale green, almost-transparent blouse and, judging from the way she moved, probably nothing else. "Don't you own any underwear?" he asked.
She gurgled a giggle. "Do you always wake up grumpy?"
"Always." He threw back the blankets, remembered he wasn't wearing much, and pulled them back up. "Can you leave the room, please, so I can get dressed?"
She put her hands on her hips, pursing her mouth as if considering it, then shrugged and went out the front door. Kent pulled on his jeans and his shirt and joined her.
It was just past eight o'clock. The sun was up, the sky bright blue but with heavy accumulations of white clouds, suggesting the possibility of later rain. Outside the cottage, nothing interesting was happening—flowers lifted their heads in the faint breeze, two deer grazed side by side at the edge of the forest. The deer glanced at them, then at each other and went back to eating. Faye looked anxiously around while Kent buttoned his shirt. "Do you hear anything?" she asked.
"No. Why?"
"I don't know. It's just…" She shrugged. "Probably nothing. I sometimes imagine things."
"No kidding," he drawled.
She lifted frosty-tipped lashes to glance up at him, the look in her silver-blue eyes both innocent and beckoning. "Did you sleep all right?" she asked in a throaty whisper.
"Splendid, thanks." His arm came up to encircle her shoulder, but when he realized what he was doing, he jerked away and went inside to the bathroom.
"Cut it out!" he ordered the reflection in the mirror. "She is one innocent young lady. Keep your hands off her!" The character in the glass leered back at him wickedly and he sighed.
If she hadn't announced she was a virgin, he would have spent the night with her. He'd like to think he was better than that, but the plain facts were, he wasn't—his marriage had proved that. He wasn't made for a commitment that involved settling down and being faithful forever. He was never again going to put himself in the position of actually being expected to do it. He spent time with any woman who came along, spelling out the rules very clearly beforehand. The charming creature outside with the tempting eyes was simply not capable of comprehending this. She was someone in trouble, someone he was going to help if he could; and that was that. No hanky-panky, Mr. MacIntyre. Try to remember that!
When he emerged she was in the kitchen, wringing her hands nervously. "It must have been my imagination," she told him. "I couldn't see anything."
Well, he could. He could see a good fifty percent of her body under that filmy shirt, and, although he made a great attempt to stop staring at it, it was almost impossible. He turned his back to her. "Do you think you could possibly find something else to wear before we leave."
Faye glanced down at what she was wearing, then back up, her expression changing to one of amusement. "What's wrong with this?"
"It might rain," he hedged. "And it's rather cool out there."
"I'll wear a jacket." She wrinkled her nose at him. "Do you want something to eat first? Tea? Fruit?"
"That would be great. Thanks."
She flitted around the kitchen, putting on the kettle, pulling things out of the fridge. Kent had just finished gathering his things when he thought he heard something. He glanced at Faye, but she was involved in whatever she was brewing, humming to herself with a lilting sound that was as tempting as the look in her eyes. He resisted the urge to sing along with her and went out the front door.
At first he couldn't hear anything. Then he could—a deep, low throb. He struggled to place it, his heart pausing as he did so. A helicopter.
It could mean anything, he assured himself as he went back inside. They might not be coming here. If they were, he had a few tricks up his sleeve, and Faye had the sleeping powder. "I think we may be having company," he said as he closed the door behind him.
"Why? What's—" She froze with her hand on the door of the fridge. "What's that noise?" she whispered.
"A helicopter. It could be nothing, or…"
"Or it could be him." Her eyes reverted to panic. She darted to the closet in the back, pulled out a pale green jacket, and thrust her arms into it. She swung her brown woven bag around her neck. "Let's get away."
"Hang on," Kent soothed. "Don't panic. We can—"
Faye ignored him, rushed to the front door and pulled it open. As she did, the helicopter's thump-thump grew louder. "Stay inside," Kent hissed. "We—"
He was too late. Faye raced into the clearing, heading for the forest. Kent swore and started after her. The sound increased as a huge gray-and-blue egg-shaped helicopter materialized over the side of the hill, circling to block their path. Faye swerved toward him, her eyes wide with terror. Kent grabbed her hand as the chopper herded them toward the cottage. He dragged her back inside and slammed the door behind them. "Wait a minute. Let's find out—"
She yanked her hand from his grip and darted through the kitchen to open the back door. As Kent rushed after her, the front door splintered. "Stop!" a man's voice commanded.
Kent whirled around. A brutish-looking, wide-shouldered man had broken in the door, a gun clenched in his fist. "Don't move!" he warned. "Don't even think about it."
Kent snatched the pot of tea off the kitchen counter, hurled it into the man's face and raced out the back after Faye. She had skirted to the right, around the planting areas, and was just yards away from the bushes when a short, bulky man appeared from around the side of the house. Kent shouted a warning and Faye veered away—too late. The man took a running dive, landing on top of her. She went down with a high, shrill scream, just as a glancing blow to the side of Kent's head knocked him to the ground. He lay there, catching his breath, trying to keep calm.
The bulky man with Faye jumped to his feet, bringing her with him. He planted an arm around her, pinning her arms to her body, while his free hand pulled a revolver out of a shoulder holster. He aimed it at Faye's waist. "Don't try anything!" he warned.
She was in no condition to do anything of the sort. Her pupils were dilated with fright, her chest heaving in and out in large, desperate pants. Kent rubbed his aching temple and looked up at his own assailant, a large unfriendly looking fellow with a jagged cut above the eye where the teapot had caught him, and some angry red blotches from the scalding tea. He thrust a meaty hand down to drag Kent to his feet. "Who the hell are you?"
"Isn't that my line?" Kent gasped.
The fist that connected with Kent's mouth suggested the man didn't appreciate his sense of humor. Kent was in the grass again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and gagging on the taste of his own blood.
"Take her to the 'copter, Davy," the man ordered. "I'll ge
t rid of this asshole."
Faye screamed, struggling. Davy raised his gun hand, obviously intending to smash it into her skull.
Kent glared at the gun, it sprang out of Davy's hand, falling into the bushes. Davy swore and bent to retrieve it. Kent leapt up, smashing his hands down on the back of Davy's neck. As he crumpled, the other man pounced on Kent, driving a fist into his face, then dragging him to his feet to receive another blow.
Faye screamed again, but Kent was helpless against the attack, unable to concentrate while he was being pummeled. He drove a fist into his attacker's stomach, the man's grip on him loosened, and Kent twisted away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Faye dash for the forest. Kent's attacker turned to follow, and Kent exploded into him, grabbing the man's head and bringing up his knee to meet it with jarring force. The man slid to the ground.
Kent watched him fall, snatched in a breath, then staggered after Faye, his mind foggy from the pounding he'd taken.
She ran so fast and so easily through the trees that he found it impossible to keep up with her. Finally he stopped, leaning against a tree trunk to catch his breath. She kept going. He shuddered in a few groaning breaths, holding them to listen. There was no sound of pursuit, but no sound of a helicopter taking off, either.
A few minutes later, the bushes rustled and Faye crept through them. By then, Kent was on the forest floor, his strength slowly returning. Faye knelt beside him. "Oh, Kent," she whispered. "Your face—it's a mess."
"It's not that great from this side, either," he whispered back. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." She twisted her fingers together. "Why did you let them get so close?"
"Let them? Babe, I didn't have much say in the matter."
"You could have zapped them down from the sky," she said. "You could have…"
"I can't zap someone down from the sky, at least not without a bazooka, and I don't normally carry one of those."
She bent her head, her shoulders drooping. "You really aren't the Wizard, are you?"
He drew in a breath. "Nope."
"I thought you were," she said. "I really thought you were."
"Well, I'm not." He pushed himself to his feet. "Let's get out of here."
Faye shook her head. "I can't."
"What do you mean, you can't?"
"I can't." She looked up at him, her face a study in disappointment. "I have to wait for the Wizard. If I'm not at my place, he won't know how to find me."
"If he's such a great Wizard, hell figure it out," Kent muttered. "You can't go back there, Faye. We don't know how many men there are—there had to be at least three—neither of those goons looked capable of flying a helicopter. Someone's back there, and when those men come to, they'll follow us. We have to get to Neverdale before they catch us."
"The forest will protect me," she announced.
"It didn't do a great job earlier."
The slight breeze abruptly ceased, the plants and trees hushing to stillness. "Neither did you," said Faye.
There were a lot of things he could have said right then—pointed out how she had revealed their position by tearing off through the clearing, by dashing out the back door without a thought, by not being prepared, by panicking. He didn't. He sucked his lower lip in under his teeth, feeling the sting of the cut on it, and squinted up at the sky. "How much stuff do you have in the bag?"
"What? Oh, long-sleep powder. Quite a bit. Why?"
"Then you should be able to manage for a little while, as long as you stay away from your place. I'll go down to the town, call the police and tell them you were attacked. They'll come up here and do something." He turned on his heel and left her there, kneeling under a tree, waiting for the Wizard.
Going back down was a lot easier. For one thing, he didn't have the slight weight of his backpack; for another, the way seemed a lot clearer now, the trees parting as if anxious for his departure. He shouldered his way through them, annoyed with both her and himself. For a little time, there, he'd wanted to be the one she was waiting for. Damn her all to hell. What had she expected?
She'd be fine, he told himself. As long as she stayed in the trees, they'd never find her. She had enough long-sleep powder on her to knock out two men—if she didn't panic. Stupid woman, darting off like that. If she hadn't acted like such a fool, he wouldn't have had his good looks ruined by that creep with the fist the size of Kentucky. He fingered his jaw, knowing it probably looked just as bad as it felt.
His motorcycle was in the bushes where he'd hidden it not twenty-four hours ago, parked beside an old green pickup that he assumed belong to Faye. He shoved on his helmet, wincing when it touched the large bruise forming on his cheekbone. As he clapped down the visor, he heard the whop-whop of a helicopter. He watched the sky, waiting until it came into view, knowing he was hidden by the trees. It circled a couple of times, then slowly flew south. He sat on his bike until he couldn't hear the sound anymore, then roared down the dirt road in a cloud of dust.
Perhaps he should have anticipated danger, but he was too preoccupied by both his own dark thoughts and the reassuring concern from Avril. He suddenly—and desperately—wanted to see her. He had never felt so inadequate, which was ridiculous. He was not a prizefighter, but he'd done all right, considering the odds against him—and Faye hadn't been hurt.
He should have taken advantage of her tight little body last night, damn it, instead of worrying about being a gentleman! No, that wouldn't have been right—she obviously wasn't in full control of her faculties. An Ayaldwode! A Wizard! Pretty ridiculous.
He decided to call Avril as soon as he got to town, just to hear her voice. Although they could exchange feelings mentally, details were too difficult to transmit. He wanted to tell her the whole story, even if she did yell at him for bullying Faye and then leaving. No matter how angry she got, Avril was always on his side. Right now, an ally would be wonderful.
He took an outside corner too fast, skidded around the following inside one, braking as he rounded the craggy rock on his right where a gray-and-blue helicopter blocked the road. He swore, took a wide turn back the way he'd come, only to find a black sedan had pulled across the highway. To his right was sheer rock; to the left, a killing fall. Two men stepped out of the sedan, both aiming rifles in his direction. He circled back to the helicopter, where the same kind of scene awaited him.
He was trapped.
Chapter Six
Faye watched Kent leave, then crept back through the forest. She was annoyed with herself for believing he was the one, and annoyed with him for appearing so perfect. Last night, she'd been convinced he had power—this morning, he'd let those men beat him up, and almost hurt her. Kent was no Wizard. Good thing he hadn't spent the night with her, after all.
When she reached the edge of the clearing, she slid behind a cedar bush to survey the scene. Kent had been right about one thing—there were three men. They stood in a little group beside the helicopter, while one spoke into what appeared to be some sort of two-way radio. He finished his conversation. One man climbed into the helicopter, the blades began to spin, the machine rose, and, like an angry eagle, took off.
The two men left behind walked unsteadily into her cottage. Faye found a comfortable tree to lean against, and settled down to think. She was perfectly safe in the forest, she assured herself. They couldn't find her in here—they weren't even going to bother looking. Sooner or later, they'd leave, either because they were tired of hanging around, or because the Wizard had come. She didn't have to be scared. Still, she pulled her jacket tightly around her, hugging her bag for comfort.
She was sorry Kent wasn't the Wizard. He was so sweet, so nice looking, so attractive. Plus, he'd been company. She was lonely. She hadn't known she was lonely, but now she knew. She'd been locked up here too long; it was time she rejoined the world. She may be an Ayaldwode, but she was also part Welsh. That must be the part that missed the company of people. Maybe someday, it would be safe for her again. Too bad it wouldn't be with Kent.
For someone who wasn't a Wizard, he'd done some pretty amazing things. Okay, he'd gotten a bit beaten up in the process, but she hadn't been hurt. He'd taken a few punches for her, and most of those were entirely her fault—she was the one who had blindly panicked, raced around like an idiot, completely lost her ability to reason. She remembered the look on his face when she'd said he hadn't done a good job of protecting her—for one second, he'd looked as if she'd slapped him. She hadn't taken care of his face, either. She had been so preoccupied with the fact that he'd let himself get hurt, assuming that meant he wasn't the Wizard.
Right now, she didn't care if he was or wasn't. What difference did it make? She was sitting here, scared and all alone, when she could have been with Kent. She had just sent away a very kind man, one she found compellingly attractive, one who was willing to help her. She was tired of being alone, sick of waiting for some mythical being to show up and solve everything. When it came right down to it, she wanted it to be Kent.
One of the men came out of the cottage and peered up at the sky, holding a hand to shield his eyes. He began to walk in her direction. She slid away through the underbrush, her heart beating pitty-pats of fear. She hadn't expected them to come after her.
She found a new vantage point, decided to be prepared, and reached down for her bag. It wasn't there. She fought down the waves of panic; she knew she'd had that bag with her—she must have dropped it. She could find it. She crept very slowly back the way she'd come. When she saw the brown woven bag lying underneath a tree, she breathed a sigh of relief. She'd feel a lot safer with her long-sleep powder in her hand.
She watched carefully for five minutes—no one was about, the forest appeared deserted. The man must have returned to the cabin. She darted out, snatched the bag, and whirled to return. Something struck her shoulder with a sharp, painful rap. She fell, like a wounded deer, onto the forest floor.
