by Jaime Rush
“That stuff smells like pot,” she said, her voice muffled against the pillow. “Not that I’ve ever smoked it, but I was around it a couple of times.”
He snugged it out in the abalone shell. “We should never use drugs or drink to the point of oblivion. Risks exposure. Or more.”
“Like turning into a jaguar? Wouldn’t that freak the weed heads out?” Her short laugh lit his soul like a flash of sunlight.
He dipped his fingers into the jar, a pungent cream that reminded him of the desert, and rubbed it into his palms. Earlier, touching her had put him in a state of delirium. He straddled her at her waist but positioned himself so only his inner thighs made contact with her. He felt the heat between them the moment his palms came down on her shoulders. She felt it, too, by her soft intake of breath. His hands kneaded her knotted muscles.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch . . .”
“Stop tensing.” He worked the knot with his thumb, and it eased.
“Oh, God, that feels so much better.”
He worked through several more and then ran his hands down the length of her back, stopping at her panty line. He closed his eyes, but his hands transmitted the torturous feel of her soft skin, indents on either side of her spine, even the mental image of her.
She let out breathy groans that just about drove him crazy. He scooted farther down, working the backs of her legs, and finally lavished her feet with attention. They were long, elegant, toenails expertly painted.
When he finished her other foot, she twisted her head around to look at him. “That was amazing. How did you learn to massage like that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think about it, I just follow my instinct.”
“This is part of what I want to learn next,” she said. “I want to be able to help people like this.” She grabbed a handful of sheets as she sat up. “Take off your shirt. I want to work your back.”
He supposed that’s how he’d worded it to her, but the order sounded provocative coming from her. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t ‘have to.’ I want to. And you’ll let me, because you’re sore, too. It’s only fair.” She pinned him with a stubborn gaze tinged with a smile that told him she was enjoying gaining her power and wasn’t going to let him back out.
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
To give her privacy, he turned and pulled off his shirt. He could hear her putting on her clothes behind him and gave her a few extra seconds.
“You dress amazingly,” she said when he turned around. “I love a guy who takes pride in his appearance. I mean, I love when a guy takes pride. Most seem to grab whatever they first come upon in a store and don’t give much thought to putting an outfit together.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of that kind of compliment. Her expression, though, was sincere, as she knelt on the bed in front of him.
“You’re not accusing me of being a metrosexual, are you?”
She laughed, again, that beautiful sound. “Not hardly. You don’t use enough hair product.”
He ran his hand across his forehead in feigned relief. “Whew.”
She tilted her head. “You’re way too . . . primal. Practical.”
He raised an eyebrow at the way her voice had gone a little raw when she said “primal.” He said, “I buy most of my clothing online. I’m not too primal to use one of those computer things.”
“I didn’t mean primate, silly. Primal, animalistic . . .” Her gaze dropped to his bare chest. “Savage.” She blinked. “I mean, it’s hard to find time to preen when you’ve got some creature on your trail.”
Why should it bother him what she thought, anyway? But the way she’d said “savage” with an ember in her eyes tightened him right down to his core.
“Okay, lay down.” She took the jar of rub from the floor.
This was probably not a good idea. Bad enough, him touching her. For her to touch him . . . electricity zinged through his body at the thought. But he did ache, and he couldn’t reach his back well enough to do a good job of working in the rub. Sure, keep rationalizing when you should have refused.
He held in his own intake of air when she ran her hands down his back. She sat beside him, her thigh touching his side, working his shoulders.
“Your knife got left behind in the woods.”
“I’ve got others.”
“I saw them. So many different kinds.”
“I’ve been collecting them for a long time. And I inherited my father’s collection. They’re not only functional, but artistic. Some are very old, from distant cultures and extinct tribes. I’ve traveled all over the world to hunt them down.”
“You don’t use a gun.”
“I don’t trust them. Sometimes they lose their efficiency when they morph with me. Knives are simple. They don’t malfunction.”
She worked in silence for a few minutes, running her hands down both sides of his spine, working out his aches. He let his arousal flare; she couldn’t see it. Heaven and hell at the same time. It was a rare gift to be in a place where he could safely indulge his desires with a woman who wasn’t looking for something permanent. He gave everything but his emotions. Now he was with the one woman he’d always had feelings for, and a back rub was all he could let himself do. When he was with her, he had to shut off those feelings in case she picked up on them.
She ran her hands down his arm, her fingers sliding between his. Desire coiled inside him. Her body leaned over his back, not close enough to feel physically, but he could feel her energy. The tip of her braid brushed his skin with her movements, leaving a tickly trail.
She worked his neck, a slow kneading motion. Her voice came from close to his ear. “You’re not one of us, are you? An Offspring, I mean.”
“Ah, I see. Get me all relaxed and then mind probe me.”
“You got me figured out. Now that I have you right where I want you, you must answer my questions. And don’t go to sleep again. I’m on to you.”
He chuckled. He had dropped off to sleep to avert her questions. “What makes you ask?”
“A few things struck me as odd. Like when Pope talked about the Offspring being part of his family, he didn’t include you. I don’t know of any Offspring who can morph. And when Pope talked about the SCANE, you didn’t ask what it was because you knew. I presume your father told you. And he knew Pope, but it didn’t seem to be from here. I put the pieces together, and the only way they fit is that you’re not an Offspring.”
“Not exactly.”
“You told us you were, that first time we met.”
“It was easier than explaining, and it wasn’t important. Still isn’t.”
“Yes, it is. I’m trying to make sense of it. Of you, I suppose.”
He turned his head to meet her gaze. “Why?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” Her eyes narrowed. “I do know, actually. You know a lot about me. Heck, even about my crush on Lucas. It’s not fair that you know so much and I know hardly anything about you.”
He might have shut off her line of questioning, but he sensed her deep need to know more. He sensed so much from her, her own pleasure at touching him, her building desire and also her fear of him, though he wasn’t sure if it was of his jaguar or his profession. Her fear was good. Her persistence was not.
She went on. “It drove me crazy not knowing why we couldn’t be together, and even when I accepted that I wouldn’t see you again, I still wanted to know who you were. I know some now, but not enough. I don’t want to be part of your world of creatures, knives, living on edge . . . I tried forgetting about those weeks of hell.” Defeat softened her words. “But I couldn’t forget about you.”
Her emotions twisted him. He understood that failing all too well, and he sat with it in silence. She was his greatest weakness. And his greatest love. He could tell her neither. But he could tell her what she needed to know. That would cost him little.
“I was born before the government program, so I
didn’t inherit the Essence of Pope’s father.”
She reclined next to him, face-to-face, her left hand still working his neck. “You said you didn’t like to kill humans. As though you’re not one. You’re from Pope’s dimension, aren’t you?”
He shook his head. “No, but my father was.”
“Pope said something about knowing what your father was doing here.”
“Some Callorians have found ways to escape the oppressive world the Collaborate has created to come here. Many become corrupted once they are allowed to express their emotions and carnal lust. DNA testing could expose the other dimension, which would cause chaos and fear here.”
She was listening intently, her blue eyes hardly blinking. So he continued.
“My father briefly worked for the C hunting down Scarletts, but found their rules stifling. It was the SCANE that pushed him beyond the edge of the law. He had a friend who underwent SCANE and survived, but with no memories of his loved ones or his past. He spent five years stumbling around reciting the law books until he mercifully died. My father wasn’t an emotional man, but some things bothered him. It was why he became the very thing he was hunting.
“He made the mistake of joining the government program here, though, thinking he was helping mankind. He felt the Essence invading his psyche but didn’t understand what it was. He already had tremendous powers, so it didn’t enhance them. But the Essence affected him in other ways. It made him be unfaithful with Lucas’s mother. He loved my mother too much for a casual dalliance.”
“Your mother is a human.”
“My father fell in love first with the Hopi, their beliefs and ways. He came through a portal near Sedona. The Hopi knew he was different, even though he’d taken on the human guise of one of them. But, of course, he wasn’t one of them and had to keep his past a mystery. He and my mother had a bond like none I’ve ever seen in any other couple.” He knew the bond well. “She knew what he was, what he did, before they married. She was willing to put up with all that it meant to be with him, but I saw what it cost her. In the end, it cost her her mate.”
“He died when you were how old?”
“Seven. But he came to me, first in my dreams and then later in waking consciousness. He had already been teaching me the warrior ways during the times he was home. My mother didn’t like it, so I didn’t tell her he was still training me from beyond.”
Her expression hardened. “Your father was training you to take his place?”
He nodded.
“That’s just wrong. What kind of father wants his son to engage with deadly beings?”
“It was his purpose. Now it’s mine.”
He saw her struggle to push down her anger at his father. “You grew up with the Hopi people?” she asked.
“Not really. Though they came to accept my father, once he started killing they sensed the darkness in him. The Hopi are a peaceful people. When my father joined Darkwell’s program, we moved to DC. My mother and I returned after he died, but the shame of a suicide taints the whole family. And I was different. I had the darkness, too. I didn’t take well to being bullied by kids who felt threatened. Especially when I got good with knives. We moved to a cabin my father had built out in the forest. Now she’s back with her people at Orayvi in the Third Mesa. She’s a silversmith.” He turned the pendant she’d made for him on his sixteenth birthday over to show her the back side. “See the sun? That’s her hallmark. Every artist stamps their hallmark on their work.”
She touched it, and he released the pendant at the heat between their fingers. He felt every stroke of her fingers on the metal. “She does beautiful work.”
His pride made him smile. “She’s one of the best artisans in the tribe.”
Her expression froze as she took him in. Then a smile transformed her face. “I’ve never seen you smile, really smile. It’s . . . amazing.”
He tamped it down. “Do you know enough now?”
She released the pendant, her own smile wilting. “I don’t think I’ll ever know enough, and I know you won’t tell me what lies in the deepest places in your soul.” She tilted her head. “Is there anyone who knows you so well? Your mother? No, you probably keep your distance from her to keep her safe. Your father, then?”
“My father is my teacher, my guide. Do you share confidences with your father?”
“No, but—”
“I need to decompress, clear my mind for a few minutes.”
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He felt the familiar dizziness that preceded his father’s visits. He floated through the ethers, meeting him halfway.
“Did you get a warning?” he asked before Wayne could say anything, the two of them conversing as if they were indeed face-to-face.
He could see his father’s stern face, mouth tight. “The woman with you, she will cause great trouble. You will be killed if you stay with her.”
“I will be leaving her with Pope tomorrow.”
“Good. She weakens you.”
“Yes,” he had to admit. “Do you see any danger coming to her?”
Now that Petra was with him, bonded to him, he probably wouldn’t get warning visions about her future. Or about Pope’s either, though he would know if something happened to either of them the moment it happened. But would it be too late then?
“I see nothing where she is concerned. Which, as you know, means neither good nor bad. I can feel that you care about her, but do not let your feelings put you, or her, in mortal danger. You have two worthy adversaries, and teamed up they are more than twice as dangerous. They cover each other’s weaknesses. Be on your guard at all times.”
Cheveyo heard his own weariness when he said, “I always am. But I must recharge now.”
“Go. Be safe.”
He disengaged, returning to his body. He didn’t open his eyes for a few minutes more, trying to clear his mind. It was all he could do not to look at Petra, lying next to him. He could feel her breath softly pulsing on his shoulder, her gaze on him, and her tangled energy.
The only way they would be safe was to be apart. Now. Forever.
Chapter 8
Every time Cheveyo passed the turnoff to the Mesa where his mother lived, he felt a pang. He passed her road many more times than he turned down it.
He glanced at Petra, dozing on the seat next to him, an open magazine in her lap. He was a man at war, as much internally as externally, wanting to be with her and wanting to protect her by being away from her. Soon he would leave her with Pope and backtrack to find the enemy he was sure was on his trail.
She would have a crease on her cheek again. He would fight to not rub it away again.
He turned onto the unmarked road flanked by signs that warned about trespassing at the risk of imminent death. Petra woke when they hit a rough patch in the road.
“Are we there?” Her voice was husky with sleep.
“In time for lunch.”
She scrubbed her fingers through her hair, slowly coming awake. Yep, a crease. “Sitting in a moving vehicle sure makes me sleepy.”
“Rest is good. You’ve been through a lot lately.”
“So have you, but you’ve hardly had any rest.” She looked around at the dense forest of pines. “Where’s the desert?”
“Flag is higher up in the mountains. Flagstaff,” he added. The locals called it Flag. “The whole state isn’t desert, you know.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve never been out West, have you?”
She shook her head, her hair brushing her shoulders. “I haven’t really been anywhere. I went to New York City once.” She took in their surroundings like a kid, her eyes wide, the haze of sleep still clinging to her eyes and voice. “Wow! Mountains!”
“Those are the San Francisco Peaks. No, not related to the California San Fran. Those are dormant volcanoes. The largest is Mount Humphrey. Great skiing.”
“They’re absolutely beautiful. It looks like God threw gold dust on green mountains.”<
br />
They were beautiful, the aspens and ponderosa pines interspersed with the deciduous trees that were turning gold. He saw them through her eyes, fresh and vivid.
After passing Flag, civilization faded away again. She was still watching their surroundings. “The sand isn’t all red either. Kind of a mix of red, dark gray, and rocks. I’m going to guess your place is in the middle of nowhere.”
“Yeah. My father had it built before he met my mother. He used it as I do, as a respite between bouts.” Acres of lonely, pine-covered land. “I called Pope, but he wasn’t answering his cell phone.”
She pulled out her iPhone. “I’m surprised there’s service out here.”
“I installed a personal cell tower. Unless he’s out in the woods somewhere, he should get a clear signal. I left a message letting him know we’re closing in.”
“I remember hearing you talking. I thought it was a dream.”
She’d stayed up through most of the night with him, though they hadn’t spoken much. He was beginning to like having her there. Good thing he was dumping her off today.
She went into the back to gather her things. The passenger seat looked emptier than it had before. Toto sat wedged at the corner of the dash, staring at him.
When he finally pulled up to the cabin, he saw a bright blue Ford F10 parked out front. “My cleaning lady is here.”
The dark wood house sat in a clearing, far enough from the trees for fire safety. The windows across the upstairs room, his bedroom, reflected the afternoon sun.
Petra came back up to the front. She took in his home, leaning forward and biting her lower lip. “I like it. Rustic but modern, blends in with the surroundings.”
“By design.”
He approached a large outbuilding that was connected to the house via a covered walkway and hit a button. The door opened and he pulled in. She met him by the side door a few minutes later and he took her bag.
“How long are we staying here?” she asked.
