Rebel Heart

by Young, Christine

  If she chose to betray him in any way...

  He dared not think of the consequences. He might have connections in both communities, but all too often those associations could be severed. And he knew he risked everything--his standing--each time he infiltrated a ring of thieves, but he'd be damned if he'd die just because of the impulsiveness of his contrary soon-to-be wife. Perhaps Drake knew all the pitfalls he'd placed in front of him. Perhaps Jonathan was very glad that The Phantom protected a cousin he loved while he was embroiled in intrigue.

  Sheridan was an ever-present threat.

  Give Sheridan the barest indication that he worked with the thieftakers or the overlords and Cameron would lose everything.

  Then exile would be his fate.

  Thieftakers were no longer an acceptable part of the crime-fighting community. Too many of them had worked both sides of the law, and now they were tracked down with deadly intent.

  He sighed deeply. It wasn't worth thinking about any longer. He could not--would not let Victoria know his identity or his purpose.

  Her caution surprised him. She didn't know he was The Phantom. And she wasn't ready with any confessions that she harbored classified information in her computer, Information that would anger many of the world leaders. She was so zealous in her work.

  That made his admiration for her grow even more. But she was far too rash, and defiant. He tried to understand her dedication--Lord knew, he was like her in that.

  The commitment had begun long before Counselor DeMontville had confronted the thieftakers and the thieves in the forest that day. While Cameron's own father had lived, they had surprised a clandestine meeting in a small glade on the outskirts of their property. The men had scattered when they approached, but they left evidence behind. The vial they found there had contained a deadly and very contagious disease, a threat to the cities, a promise of more to come. Among the men they'd seen that day was a soon to be prominent and well respected member of the medical community. His father hadn't been able to prove his accusations or Quentin Morray's association with the thieves. It was his word against theirs.

  Cameron had known about this long before he'd actually seen the proof of it, though his father had remained adamant that nothing such as this would ever come from his laboratory. "The men working for me are all loyal to me," he'd insisted.

  Whatever the issue was at the time, Cameron had not been sure. But as the years passed, he'd kept his eyes and ears open to all that went on around him. Gradually he was pulled into that very cause his father worked so hard on--and DeMontville was in the middle.

  The vial had been returned. No one died from the encounter, but other incidents had been reported. Many of the thieves remained elusive and within both communities, thieftakers played both sides to their own benefit.

  Eventually, the world leaders outlawed these men, but they had gone underground, forging horrible alliances and criminal rings that were difficult to shut down. They made their own laws, enforcing them at times with deadly purpose.

  This time they had failed in their attempt to gain money at another's expense. But what of the future?

  The situation had seemed so dire, the container empty on the ground. His father approached it with extreme caution, donning his sterile gloves, his facemask in place, something he never rode out of the laboratory without. As Cameron watched his father, he had heard an inner voice calling to him.

  The thieves had found it opportune to threaten the lives of so many for their own greed. There were laws against this, but they were ineffective.

  Those laws were challenged at every turn, and the men challenging them often succeeded. No consistency in the laws existed between the cities and the outsiders, hence the dilemma. It was so easy to blend into the forest, and it was even easier to lose oneself in the cities teeming with people.

  He had never really intended to become a spy. He'd been raised and educated to become a physician, to research the deadly diseases and their mutants, and to find immunizations and cures.

  Then he'd happened upon a curious scene one day when he'd been out searching for an illusive flower, a white one. He hadn't found it that day either, because he'd come across Counselor DeMontville, Tori's father. He had heard the shouts. After quickly taking in the scene, he'd managed to stun the wild crowd, shooting only at those men who threatened DeMontville and his daughter. Then he'd seen Quentin Morray. He'd hated the man from the first day they'd met, passionately despising all he did.

  He'd seen the treacherous bastard come back to kill DeMontville, and he'd been forced to show himself.

  Cameron knew DeMontville had never revealed his identity. Rather the counselor had suggested a new persona and that new character had become an infiltrator into one of the most dangerous underground rings in the country.

  He had always respected Victoria's father, and a curious relationship arose between them. Jonathan had capitalized on it so many times he'd lost count, demanding he teach him the ways of the outsiders. He'd really had no choice. Jonathan could be quite persuasive and he knew Jonathan would eventually be called upon to use this knowledge in the political arena. It never hurt to have allies either, particularly ones who could wield their power constructively and with compassion. Cameron had resolved to teach Jonathan well....

  Beside him, Victoria was breathing easily.

  Oh, hell, she had thrown one arm over her eyes, her breasts rising and falling with each deep breath. The nipple on her exposed breast had formed a tight little nub as if beckoning to him.

  The cave was no longer cold. He felt the constriction of his muscles as he fought to overcome the overwhelming urge to sample what was almost his.

  He cursed softly, rose, and began to cover her with the blanket she had so artlessly pushed off. Yet, once again looking at her, the cover in his hands, he stopped.

  She was about to become his wife. What he saw before him would be his. The marriage would be difficult at best.

  But he would weather it, he resolved, and he didn't care how turbulent she made his life. Wrapped in the silken strands of her hair, she seemed the most exquisite, alluring flower. They needn't discuss their research. He would make no long-term plans. She needn't change her ways for him, if she would only await him in the bedchamber and allow him to teach her the physical delights of their marriage. No, he determined. He wanted more from her than just physical pleasure. He wanted her heart and soul.

  He had no idea how to find it.

  If only Drake or Jonathan had given him directions--a how-to guide--along with the command to wed. His tension was increasing again, legs growing rigid, heart pounding in his chest, blood surging and heating his body so that every nerve ending demanded release. His cock throbbed, wanting freedom from confinement. He cursed again but this time he had the intelligence to drop the cover on the enchanting display spread before him. He turned away, heading to the mouth of the cave, intent on a silent and solitary vigil to last the remainder of the night.

  At the entrance, he ran his hand over the smooth leather of his mask. The material was a small barrier between Victoria and his recognition. He leaned against the cold stone, hoping it would cool the heat of his body.

  He should leave now. She was safe from every one except himself. If he did leave, then Cameron Savage could pick up his reluctant bride in the morning. He could simply take off his mask in front of her.

  With the moon glow caressing his face, he grinned mischievously--and not without a hint of the devil himself.

  No...

  He would spend another day with Victoria. It was so very intriguing to learn how she felt about her husband-to-be, and she'd already given away a wealth of information concerning her research.

  It could be a very enlightening day.

  Either that or torture.

  He closed his eyes, reliving the terrible power of the desire that cut and sliced through him. Aisling's words came to the forefront of his mind once more.

  The betrayal.

&nb
sp; "No!" he swore softly, his eyes wide open. The prophecy would not happen. He wouldn't allow it. He pushed away from the stone cold wall and his feelings. With long strides, he made his way through the forest, venting his anger.

  But the exercise soothed only his body and his soul--not his mind. He'd known Aisling for so very long, and according to the legends of the tribe, she'd never been wrong. This would be the first time, he vowed.

  He needed only to keep a close eye on this impulsive woman to learn more about the working of her mind. Knowing one's enemy was the best defense and perhaps the best offense too.

  He knew there could be no enemy more dangerous or treacherous than one's own wife. He inhaled deeply the scent of pine and the softer scent of violets lingering in the air. He turned and walked back to the cave, slipping through the narrow opening. The sun had nearly risen on a new day. The cave was growing light.

  He paused just inside the opening. He could see her clearly. He didn't dare relax his guard and rest beside her, yet he was exhausted.

  He crouched next to her. She appeared so very innocent, so fragile, bewitchingly seductive.

  Careless of her effect on him, she slept. Her hair was silken. Her breasts perfectly formed, enticing.

  He turned away and picked up the thermos of water, wishing it was night and the cave was bathed in darkness. Impatiently, he tore off bread to eat in an attempt to ease the hunger that was gnawing at him from the inside out. But the hunger was not for food, and it was not easily assuaged. He was tired now, more tired than he had imagined possible. He stripped away his cloak. Then he stood only in his form fitting body suit and wished he might take it off too.

  He stretched, but just when he was beginning to ease some of the tension that wracked his body, he was startled by a sudden anguished groan. He spun around, expecting to see an intruder or some reason for the terror he had heard. Curled into a fetal position, she moaned and cried out as if in pain or some unearthly distress. Even as he rushed to her side, he realized her eyes were wide open, yet they were clouded over, and she didn't recognize him. Once long ago, Jonathan had told him of the nightmares and the demons that haunted her in her sleep. He had told him that for Victoria there was seldom a night of rest. Jonathan had also said that with her return to Tower City, she had seemed more at peace, seldom speaking of the dreams that left her trembling with dread and fear.

  "Go away," she said, her voice eerie and strangely calm, words whispered softly through her teeth. She held her hand in front of her, warding off the evil being of her dreams. "Leave me alone," she croaked, her words barely audible, her hand shaking.

  "Tori…"

  She heard the sound and turned toward it, shrinking back to cower against the stonewall.

  Her small, fragile arms covered her face, and she had drawn her knees up tight against her chest. He touched her shoulders hoping to give comfort and protect her from the monster in her mind. "Hush, it's all right. I won't let anything hurt you." She cowered back farther, shaking her head. "Everyone is dead--gone. Nothing will save them. He's a devil. He's destroyed everything."

  Suddenly, she was in his arms. Her hair smelled of the forest and the lake of everything natural and good in this world. It was distinctly her own. Her skin was soft as a rose petal, silken to his touch. He felt the heat of her against him.

  For this curious instant in time, she was defenseless and exposed, an image of femininity in his arms. She was innocent, yet beguilingly provocative. He could feel far too much of her body--and her nakedness. Guilt pumped through his veins at the potent and lusty direction of his thoughts. But she was his. He need not wait for a wedding that would take place so soon.

  He pulled her closer, sharing the heat of the fire that raged between them. Take her--no. He would not succumb to the blatant animal instinct that tried so hard to overpower his common sense.

  When she trembled so against his chest…

  When he would be no better than the villain he'd rescued her from. She might have the tools at her disposal to battle him, a keen intellect, a will and a heart of steel.

  She might despise him.

  But when she lay in his arms, trembling and helpless....

  He sighed, running his fingers through the tangled mess of her hair, remembering the moment and the sleeping angel in his arms, intent on savoring the fleeting seconds he had before she became the wild, unpredictable hellion once more. Within his embrace, he held her close to his heart. "No one's going to hurt you. Wake up, babe. Morray is nowhere near. There are no plague-filled cities. No one is dying. Hush, now. It was only a dream."

  "Cameron?"

  He stiffened as she whispered his name. Then he sensed the slight lift of her chin, felt her careful perusal of his face, and heard the grateful sigh.

  "No, Victoria. It is not your husband to be." He knew when he said those words he should drop his hands, push her from the sheltering circle of his arms, but he could not bring himself to break contact.

  "I know," she whispered. "I'm glad it's you."

  At that moment, he was heartily glad of the deception because he had no intention of letting her go. "Rest easy," he told her softly.

  She didn't. She continued to look into his eyes, a pensive expression in her clear gray eyes. His arms were still around her, his hands soothing and caressing her back. "What is it? What are you thinking?"

  She smiled a huge, breathtaking smile that won his heart and broke it at the same time.

  He tilted her chin with his forefinger, studying her features and her expression once more, wishing that somehow he could transfer a few of the transparent feelings she had for him to Cameron Savage. He could make love to her now, at this moment, a time when she was half in love with a fairy tale. It would be bittersweet and not very satisfying, he thought perversely, but at least he would know she was giving all she had, her heart and her soul. Cameron might not ever know that sweet bliss, the heat of her passion, unless her feelings changed dramatically.

  He let his knuckles gently graze her cheekbones, tracing the line of her jaw and the delicate outline of her ear. Then with a heartfelt breath and grave resolve, he tucked her head next to his chest.

  Victoria

  Even before Tori opened her eyes, she could feel the sharp end of a rock cutting into her side. There was a certain scent of cave mildew and bat guano around her. She struggled to wake up, while memories of the night before flooded her mind.

  What else could go wrong?

  Perhaps everything. Her eyes were still closed tightly, but she knew instant distress. Reminders all came rushing back in on her and she understood without opening her eyes he was there--in the cave--studying her.

  He would remember too. How she trembled in his arms, seeking protection from the nightmares that had been such a part of her life since her childhood, since that day in the forest with her father. Morray had threatened her father then just as he threatened her now.

  And in truth, Quentin Morray had not been the center of her nightmares. The human strife and pain she'd seen repeatedly haunted her now.

  Then the dreams had ended. Because she had suddenly felt protected--safe from the battles she'd fought for so long and the enemies that followed her The dreams had ended because he had been there, holding her and protecting her. A friend when she needed one, a man. She had clung to him seeking comfort.

  She'd let herself relax, her breaths had taken on the same cadence as his, her heart beat with the same easy rhythm. When he'd stretched out beside her, tucking her securely next to him, she'd found courage in his strength.

  She could feel his eyes on her even now. He was watching her, studying her. He was no longer a stranger she'd innocently shared her bed with.

  She opened her eyes. He stood by the mouth of the cave in a hazy gray light, a silhouette. Totally masked from her gaze.

  Yet she knew his eyes focused on her.

  She rubbed her arms in an unconscious gesture. At that moment, she realized her state of dishabille. Her shirt
had fallen away, baring most of her to his stormy gaze. As if in slow motion, she pulled what remained of her shirt together, fastening it the best she could.

  The Phantom was watching her, waiting half-expectantly for something she couldn't quite grasp. When he turned slightly and the fading light of dusk filtered through the opening, she thought she could see an amused glint in his eye, the slight beginnings of a smile, and she was suddenly embarrassed. So he'd rescued her, comforted her in her sleep. Perhaps she had savored the moment of surrender. She'd never before been able to relax, to let someone else assume the role of protector. It made no difference. Her moment of weakness was over now and he had no right to watch her so, with such concentration. She cursed under her breath, slowly standing as if meeting him closer to eye level would help the situation. Then she stared back at him, resolute and determined.

  "I would like some privacy," she said, her voice nearly breaking.