His woman. Yes. He wanted that. He wanted Rikki Kinn beneath him, around him, squeezing him between her legs as he buried himself in her heat and scent. He wanted to mate—in the most primal way possible—and then make love, again and again, drowning her in pleasure. He wanted her to cry out his name. He wanted her to grow wet at the thought of him. He was not ashamed of that desire.
But what he felt went deeper than lust, and that … that was dangerous. His heart wanted her with a raw violence richer than blood, more profound than anything he had ever felt—and that was something he did not know how to reconcile. Or fight. He hardly knew her.
And as for trust … that was another matter entirely.
“You’re so warm,” Rikki said. She did not try to move her hand. Her body was very still. Heartbeats, rocking inside her chest. Amiri’s other hand crept up, sliding across her hip, around her waist. His palm fit perfectly into the lean curve of her spine, and he felt more than saw her thighs shift. Her scent changed, as well. He smelled spice, heat. Arousal.
“You think I have a fever?” he asked softly. “Am I so warm as that?”
“Burning,” she murmured, and the barest hint of a smile touched her mouth, cutting him to the core. “You need a doctor.”
I need you, he almost said, and the words rang so hard inside his head he had to catch himself to make certain he did not echo them out loud. For a moment, he thought he had; her expression faltered, her gaze growing uncertain, almost … afraid.
Demon. Monster. Angelique’s voice, whispering across the years.
Everything inside him stopped. His heart froze. He let go of her hand. Stopped touching her waist. His skin felt cold; all of him, dashed with ice.
“You should rest,” he said, looking down, away, at Eddie.
Rikki did not move. She did not speak. Her hand remained pressed against his face. His cheek burned beneath her palm; the only part of him still warm. He could not meet her gaze, and he waited, unable to speak.
She shifted, leaning close. Something warm touched his forehead. It took him a moment to realize it was her mouth. A kiss.
He looked up, stunned, but she was already sliding away, and he could not catch her gaze. She kept her head down as she stepped across Eddie, and he watched as she lay on the ground with the young man between them, curled on her side. She placed her hand on top of Eddie’s chest, fingers splayed against it.
Dead woman, he thought. She would be dead if my father were here.
Like Angelique, or the handful of others who had crossed paths with the old cheetah. The price of being sloppy with secrets. Trusting those undeserving of the truth. Amiri had never had the stomach to solve his problems that way.
But he looked at Rikki, her small hand pressed so carefully on Eddie’s chest, and her small kindness, that gentle comfort, were worth more than any promise.
He forced himself to lie down, and pressed his cheek against the leaves, listening to his blood, the blood of the earth, some low soft music of the night. He stared at Eddie’s shoulder, willing his friend to wake. Praying silently for strength. Enough to see them through. Enough to keep himself safe from his heart.
“Amiri.” Rikki peered at him over Eddie’s chest. “You don’t trust me.”
“And you trust no one at all.” He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. “Why is that, Rikki Kinn?”
She did not answer him for a long time, and when she did, her words were unexpected, chilling. “Broker took my blood.”
He opened his eyes. She told him more. About Jaaved, the deception, his knowledge of the canisters and the disease. The help she had received from the mercenaries in Broker’s employ.
“A double cross,” Amiri mused. “What game was Broker playing?”
She said nothing. He watched her closed expression, the way her fingers played with Eddie’s shoulder. He said, “It is time for the truth, Rikki Kinn.”
“The truth,” she echoed.
“Tell me why these men hunt you. Tell me your value to them.”
She hesitated. “If it’s what I believe it is, then I’m in deeper trouble than I realized.”
“Tell me,” he said again, searching her eyes.
“I found something,” she replied, looking away. “My entire team, not just me. Two years ago we were doing research in this region. There had been an outbreak amongst some chimpanzees, and so we went looking specifically for fruit bats in that vicinity. Trying to confirm findings that those animals were the natural reservoir for Ebola. Reports had already gone out to the media, but some of us thought it was premature.” She closed her eyes, fingers going still. “So we’re out there, and we’re deep in the bush, and we find some bats. We run tests. Every single one of them comes up positive for the virus. Every one. Antibodies, viral genomes in certain organs. Isolation of the virus on sensitive cell lines.” She took a deep breath. “That last bit was the mother lode. You can isolate the virus in living human subjects who are infected with the disease, but those samples are controlled like Fort Knox. Random, too. No way to predict when you’ll get one, because outbreaks don’t just happen every day. But those bats were a stable source. Anyone could get to them.”
“Someone with an eye for making a weapon?”
“Exactly. We didn’t tell anyone of our findings. We were afraid to until we knew more. The CDC, the military—people talk. They overreact. So we went back to map the area. To get a fix on just how big this thing might be. We told folks where we were going, just not why.” Rikki looked down. Collecting her thoughts, he believed, until he noted a faint shudder. Amiri reached out and grabbed her hand. Rikki squeezed it, and kept on squeezing.
“We were attacked on the way there. Some rebel militia out of Kivu. There had been problems for some time, but we’d managed to avoid them. This was different. The UN convoy was running late, an hour behind us, and we were too eager. We left without them. We had some guns, but that was laughable. We were scientists, not soldiers.”
“But you survived.”
Something flat and empty entered her gaze. “I was the only one. The only reason I did was because that UN convoy was coming. The commander of the militia got afraid. Worried about retaliation. Thought it would be useful to have a hostage, someone to use as a bargaining chip.”
Amiri controlled himself, barely. Fought for his voice. “How did you escape?”
“I almost didn’t. I was close to death. One of the men we had hired to take care of us had also been running late that day. Another person we left behind. Jean-Claude. He caught up. Found us. Me. Then he went back, met the UN convoy, and they devised a rescue plan. People died saving me.” Her eyes were still empty, her voice cold and soft and neutral—like reciting a shopping list, algebra, the name of a textbook. Like it was nothing.
But she began to shake again, and this time Amiri moved. He stepped over Eddie, behind Rikki, and cradled her inside his body, curling so close each shuddering breath felt like his own.
“Jaaved,” he whispered. “He wants the location of that reservoir.”
“Given what’s happened, it’s the only thing I can think of that would make me valuable. But it doesn’t make sense, either. If what killed those people is part of some biological weapon, he already has what he needs.”
“Someone has it, yes. But not necessarily him.”
“So, what? Broker gave him the weapon? Sold it? And now the other guy wants to make his own?” Rikki shook her head. “We have two parties here. Unequal footing. Broker was the one in control today. Jaaved needed him.”
“Broker was using the man.”
“Not to get me. He could have snatched me off the street any time he wanted.”
“He nearly did,” Amiri said, thoughtfully. “In Kinsangani. He wished to make a show of it.”
“Fuck that,” Rikki muttered. “Why?”
Why, indeed. “Who else knows of the bats?”
She faltered. “Just one person. Larry. Not the location. Only what we discovered.”
&
nbsp; Something cold settled in his heart. “Wouldn’t he have informed others?”
“He understood the dangers. We felt like the scientists who built the atomic bomb. I destroyed all the records. I filed false reports stating the area was clean. The rebels moved in soon after anyway, so we didn’t have to worry about settlements becoming infected by close contact with the bats. We just … let the whole thing die.”
“You trust Larry.”
“He’s the only one who knows. I’m sure of it.”
That was no answer. Amiri exhaled, slowly. He thought of Max. “Larry asked us to protect you. Why would he do that?”
Rikki stiffened. “Does he know what you are?”
“No.” He brushed his nose against her hair. “The agency I work for appears quite normal. It is a good cover, one that allows us an outlet to help others. To not … let ourselves go to waste.”
“Bunch of do-gooders?”
“Oh, yes.”
“It sounds crazy. All of this, insane.” And then, quieter: “Broker doesn’t care about the reservoir. He said I had something.”
“Something in your blood.”
“I have a feeling that’s only part of it.”
Amiri’s arm tightened. “Broker is an old enemy.”
“You met him before.”
“No. But I have had … encounters … with his organization.”
“An organization that would have an interest in people like you and Eddie? And what about me, those other doctors you said have gone missing? The refugee camp. The disease?”
“I do not know how the puzzle fit together,” Amiri said. “Only, that Broker’s interests, and those he works for—the Consortium—rest with money and power.”
“And you?”
“The Consortium has a history of collecting our kind. Kidnapping us, killing us, using us. They are … proficient at such things.”
Rikki sat up, turning. Studying his face. “They hurt you, didn’t they? They took you.”
He remained silent for a long time. Then, so softly he could hardly hear himself: “I was not the only one.”
She squeezed his hand. “How long has it been?”
“Two years.”
“Two years.” She laughed, a bitter sound. “Are they part of some government? The military?”
“I would not discount the possibility of such ties, but in essence, they are a rogue corporation. Business people.”
“And they find it in their best interest to keep your existence a secret?”
“To protect themselves, as well. Because they are us.”
“I don’t understand.”
He sighed. “The world is far more strange than you can dream, Rikki Kinn. Monsters are afoot, every creature of legend. Hiding before your very eyes.”
“And what happens when you stop hiding?” Rikki leaned close. “What happens, Amiri?”
He said nothing, but he did not need to. There were words in her face, living words breathing in her gaze, and he could hear them, already knew them by heart. She understood—the isolation, the fear—loneliness devastating as death, marching through the heart with a thunderous ache. She suffered it, too. He saw it in her eyes.
Amiri could not help himself. He touched her, his fingers gliding along the high round bones of her cheeks. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, and when his thumb caressed the corner of her mouth, her lips parted and the heat of her mouth washed over his skin, soft as night. Rikki barely breathed; and he could not move. He savored—so warm, so unhurried. Marveling that something so small could feel so thrilling.
He was hard for her. Hard and aching. And it frightened him.
“I am not safe,” Amiri whispered, almost desperately, foolishly. “Women are not safe with me.”
Rikki exhaled sharply, then smiled. “Are you sick? Grossly malformed? An animal in bed?”
A strangled laugh rose deep from his throat. “How can you make such a joke?”
“I have no idea,” she confessed, resting her head against his shoulder. Low quiet laughter escaped her. “But it feels good.”
And it did, Amiri thought. It felt too good.
He listened to Rikki’s breathing slow, and when he was quite certain she slept, Amiri untangled himself and studied her face, the stretch of her pale arm and hand as it rested so carefully on Eddie’s chest. She held the boy like a child, for reassurance, and the jealousy and regret that gnawed at him was shameful, indeed.
He forced himself to stand, gazing down upon Rikki’s still form, and remembered from long ago an old Masai warrior, recently widowed, who had whispered in ever-so-grave tones that hearts did not meet one another like roads. Hearts fell like rain. Hearts burned in fire.
And some hearts did not find each other, ever.
Amiri walked into the darkness. He listened, but heard nothing but the buzz of insects and the distant mournful cry of some prowling leopard. Scents charged the air, none of them human. Nothing dangerous.
And nothing that felt like home. Amiri could not even see the stars. He tried, and was hit with a longing for hot dry nights and the open grassland that stretched as far as the heart could fly. For the first time in years he wanted to see his father. Just one glimpse of that old golden gaze, his grim smile tough as leather and nails.
Enough. Amiri closed his eyes. “Rictor, I know you are there.”
Air whispered across his neck, this time followed by the faint scent of something rich and green, like an early spring rain—a weighty presence, which made the cheetah stir uneasily, one animal to another.
I need your help, Amiri thought, unable to say the words.
“My help,” rumbled a low voice. “You want a miracle.”
Amiri opened his eyes and looked into the shadows. “Eddie deserves one. He did not ask for this.”
“No one asks for death. Not even the ones who think they want it.”
Amiri swallowed his pride. “Help him. Please.”
Rictor said nothing. Amiri’s claws pushed through his fingertips, fur rising up his arms. The taste of blood still had not left him, and fury only made it sweeter. “You can save him. You can save us all. You have the power.”
“I have limits. I can’t interfere.”
“So you say. But I have found you do what you wish when it suits you. I am certain Elena would agree.”
“Leave her out of this.”
“How can I? She is the only reason I do not call you a monster.”
Something hard slammed into his gut. Amiri doubled over, caught his breath, then came up fast, claws flashing. Rictor appeared from the shadows. Caught his wrists mid-strike, holding him with a strength like mountain stone. Amiri had forgotten what that felt like.
“Good that you remember.” Rictor’s fingers tightened with crushing strength. “Hypocrite. Calling me monster.”
Amiri snarled. “I never tortured anyone.”
“You would have. Afterwards, you would have done anything they asked.”
“Like you? Licking their boots every time they commanded you? Little pet? Mon petit meurtrier?”
“Do not call me those names.”
“Or what? That was what we were to them. What we still are. Murderers. Animals. They are here even now, hunting us. Nothing has changed.”
“You’re more of an asshole,” Rictor said. “Elena should have left you in that cage.”
“The same could be said for you.”
Rictor spat, grim-faced. “I killed the last man who went so far. Don’t think I’ll do any different for you.”
Never, Amiri promised silently, but memories rose: the doctor, the lab, that woman who ruled them all with her black unending eyes. Too much, the thoughts were so real he could still taste the pain and humiliation of his imprisonment being shoved down his throat.
Rictor made a choking sound, and let Amiri go with a shove that sent him down on his knees. Both men stared at each other, breathing hard.
“Help him,” Amiri whispered.
&nbs
p; “And if your woman becomes sick?” Rictor asked, hoarse. “Or you? If you had to choose, who would you give a life to?”
My woman. Mine. Amiri thought of Rikki curled asleep in their camp, and his heart ached so hard he had to close his eyes to steady himself. Dangerous. He was a fool. He had to end this now before he fell too hard, too deep to run.
“Wishful thinking,” Rictor whispered, with such pain it brought Amiri up short.
But he had no time to respond. Behind him a low cry filled the night, so full of terror, so heartbreakingly agonized, the cheetah burst through Amiri’s knuckles, splitting skin with fur, claws cutting into his palms. Amiri did not think—he ran, tasting blood in his mouth, plowing through the tangle of jungle plants.
He found Rikki still curled beside Eddie, no guns pointed at her head, no jaws at her throat. Instead, her slender body shook with violent tremors, like her bones were trying to rattle free of her flesh. His heart died a little, looking at her—the entire world shrank to one floating spot in his swimming vision—and he fell to his knees at her side, staring, inhaling.
No scent of sickness. No fever rising off her body. Her eyes were merely closed, eyelids twitching wildly.
Just a nightmare. Amiri’s relief was as painful as his grief, and he fought for breath, reaching out to touch her hand.
Rikki jerked awake, screaming. Amiri was unprepared, caught stunned, and only when her fist lashed out, slamming against his jaw, did he come back to himself. Sparks cracked behind his eyes. His head snapped back. He felt like his neck would break. Her strength was immense, uncontrollable; she moved like a caged animal, eyes open but still lost in nightmare. The scent of her fear, an all-too-familiar poison.
Amiri twisted, reaching out to haul her across his lap. “Rikki. Rikki, wake up.”
She stiffened in his arms, still caught in the dream—and just when he thought he would be treated to another demonstration of her strength, Rikki let out a faint sigh and sagged against his chest. Tremors wracked her body, heartbeat fluttering, wild and small. Amiri felt like a giant holding her.
He felt other things, too. A raw desire to protect her that ran so deep from his heart to the cheetah it was more than instinct: primal, in his blood, burning down, born again in fury and desire and pain. He could not have let Rikki go to save his life, and it made him realize, with a jolt of pure fear, just how entrenched his feelings truly were.
The Last Twilight Page 16
