The Chosen

by Theresa Meyers

  “What’s under that?” China asked out of curiosity.

  “Sensitive equipment. Mostly experimental, but some of it is for travel.”

  Remington pulled off the ridiculous pith helmet and ran his hand through his hair as she looked around at the machine. “Your submersible is very impressive. Will it ride near the surface or can it run at deeper depths?”

  A spark of excitement lit Monica’s eyes. “Beneath, to depths of sixty feet. It has both a pressurization system and air scrubbers to ensure we have recycled air to breathe for trips beneath the surface.”

  She began to babble about things that held no meaning for China, who was feeling sicker by the second surrounded by this much metal. It sapped her powers, leaving her feeling woozy and weak. She pressed a hand to her cheek. A strong hand steadied her as her steps faltered and she wobbled.

  “Looks like you don’t have your sea legs yet,” Remington commented. A clank followed by a loud suctioning sound made them both turn.

  “That’s just the cargo door sealing,” Monica said with a flick of her hand as if it were something to be easily dismissed. For China it was anything but.

  Being cooped up in any closed environment, even one as big as this, played havoc with her senses as a shifter. The metal was bad enough, but the overwhelming sense that the walls were pressing in on her, that was something she couldn’t control—hadn’t been able to since she was locked at regular intervals in a box by Rathe as a child whenever she displeased him. The box at least had been blessedly made of wood. It had taken time, but the box had allowed China to learn to change at will, and taking the shape of something small had allowed her to survive the confines with her sanity intact. Still, this submarine brought the familiar sensations roiling to the surface.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she murmured, leaning more heavily on Remington than she wanted to.

  “It was a long ride last night. Perhaps you just need some rest and something to eat,” he said as he pulled her in closer to his side, supporting her weight with the strength of his arm around her waist.

  “Rest. Yes. Maybe that.”

  “Can you show us to our berths?” Remington asked the first mate. She gave a curt nod and spun on her heel, leading them up a flight of stairs to the deck above.

  The spaces of the submarine became instantly smaller and more confined the moment they left the cargo area. The hallways were almost narrow enough that Remington had to walk with his shoulders to the side since they brushed each wall, and there was only one way to walk down the halls—single file.

  “Watch your step,” Monica said as she stepped over the rim of a portal door leading them from one section of the ship to the next. “Your berths will be here.”

  She opened a door in the hallway to show a room where bunks were built into the walls, separated by curtains that drew across each berth. They were as large as coffins and had only enough head space between them for a person to sit up, well at least for her to sit up. China wasn’t sure Remington could. Panic welled up in her throat, making it suddenly harder to breathe. She didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but she needed to know if there was anywhere else she could sleep. “Do you have anything . . .” She chose her next words carefully. “Less confining?”

  One of Monica’s brows arched upward. “Afraid of tight spaces, are you?”

  China barely nodded. It was all she could manage until her body regained some kind of equilibrium, surrounded by all this metal.

  “You can sleep in the map room if you prefer. I can have a cot set up there.”

  China offered her a feeble smile in response. “Anything would be appreciated.”

  Monica went back out the door they’d passed through and continued down the hall and up another flight of narrow metal stairs until they were on the top deck of the ship.

  Once they reached the map room China sagged into a sitting position, propping herself up against one of the walls. Remington crouched beside her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  China glanced around at the metal walls. “Too much iron in these walls. It messes with my powers.”

  He nodded. “I suspected it was something like that. Let me see what I can do to get you something to eat. That might help too.”

  She gave him a weak nod, then watched him straighten and walk out of the map room. Rolled maps nested like wine bottles in a complex set of cubbyholes that covered one wall. The center of the room was occupied by a table that was bolted to the floor. A case against the far wall contained what looked like navigation equipment, sextons and all sorts of gauges and compasses.

  “Excuse me,” a male voice said from the portal. China turned. “Captain said to deliver this cot and bedding to you.” The crew man was of average size and dressed in regular clothing rather than any kind of uniform.

  China stood and gripped the table to steady herself. “Thank you. Put them over in that corner.”

  He nodded and did as she requested, setting up the cot and placing the bedroll of blankets on it. China wobbled her way to the cot and opened the bedroll, spreading out the blankets before she sank gratefully to the cot and stretched out, shutting her eyes. The horrible nauseous feeling eased slightly. This was going to be a long trip, even if it was only a few days.

  Remington returned with some bread and cheese on a plate to find that China was passed out and fast asleep on her cot in the map room.

  “She’s not much of a sailor,” Monica commented.

  “Shifters rarely are.”

  She shrugged. “Too bad. I had something splendid to show you both. Now I suppose only you will get to see it.”

  Remington set the plate of food down on the table so it would be there when China woke. “What is it?”

  “My father sent ahead instructions to have a Spider Walker put on board for you.”

  Remington tensed. He didn’t care much for mechanical walkers, mechanical horses, or other forms of travel, even preferring to travel by stagecoach rather than train when it could be helped. “Spider walker?” he said cautiously.

  “He said Marley Turlock had made it for him some time ago to help navigate the jungles that make up the interior. It can get over just about any terrain.” She marched at a quick pace back toward the cargo hold, and he followed, matching his stride to hers. Beneath their feet the hum of the engines vibrated through the flooring.

  “And what about if there’s trees? Jungles tend to have a lot of those, I’m told.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Marley knew what he was doing.”

  “He always does.”

  “It can climb through the trees if necessary. It’s very adaptable.”

  They reached the cargo hold, and Monica stripped off the duck-cloth sheets from the large mounds China had asked about when they’d arrived on the submarine.

  The eight long, tubular metal sections looked like long legs. “I thought you said it was a walker, not just the legs? We don’t have to attach those to ourselves or something do we?” He wouldn’t put such things past Marley.

  “The Spider Walker comes apart in pieces so it can be easily stored in our hull. Over there is the main pod of it.” She marched over and yanked the covering off the bulbous shape. The distinct abdomen and cephalothorax of a spider came into view, but rather than many eyes, the front of it sported one single large glass canopy through which he could see two seats.

  “The abdomen houses the water tank and steam engines. You two sit up front.” She motioned with her hand.

  “Has it been tried before?” Remington was smart enough to know not to use Marley’s inventions, especially anything this large, without having them tested first. The last thing he wanted was to go up in flames or have the machine explode while he was in it.

  She smiled at him, a look of understanding passing between them. “Don’t worry. We’ve used it several times. It’s safe.”

  He nodded.

  “Do you really think it’s necessary?”

  “You’re going to be headed ac
ross the narrowest part of Mexico, but also one of the most treacherous. There’s jungles and mountains. Without the Spider Walker it could take months to travel on foot to the other side.”

  “And with the Spider Walker?”

  “A few days at most.”

  Then she was right. They needed the Spider Walker if they were going to get to the temple in time to beat Rathe to the Gates of Nyx.

  Monica bumped her fist against the side of her thigh a few times. “Mr. Jackson, I wondered if I might ask a favor of you.”

  Remington nodded. “If I can grant it, I will.”

  “Do you still have my uncle’s map?”

  His hand strayed to his breast pocket over his heart. “Yes.”

  “And the codex he gave you?”

  He nodded.

  “I’d like to work with you on decoding the codex to find the place names for the map, and, in exchange, perhaps you can give me the codex and map when you return.”

  They’d mean more to her than to him once his mission was accomplished. “Certainly.”

  She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you.”

  “If we’re going to figure out the particulars on your uncle’s map based on the codex, we need to get started.”

  “Precisely what I was thinking.”

  The next two days passed far more quickly than Remington anticipated. Without him knowing if it was day or night, they blurred together as he worked by lamplight on the codex and map. He ventured out of the room where they worked only to stretch his legs, and while he ran into China a time or two, he was too preoccupied with finishing the map to talk to her much. He didn’t need the distraction, so he kept things as civil and polite as possible.

  China couldn’t wait to get out of the machine. The tight confines of the submarine did not offer a lot of places where one could find solitude. Especially in human form. The heavy iron content of the metal kept her from being able to shift into something smaller. Only the round portholes offered any relief, and they simply looked out into an endless field of deep sapphire blue. And the deeper they went, the darker it became outside.

  Not only did the rounded walls of metal seem to be constantly closing in on her, but the small spaces and tight places meant she was forever bumping into Remington. Now on their third full day in the machine, she’d had enough.

  After what had happened in the mountain pass, she wasn’t sure how to talk to him. Things had become awkward again between them. Oh, he’d been kind—thoughtful even—at the time, but his eyes had been so vacant, so cold, she couldn’t help but feel that some of the spark she’d sensed between them had died there amid the carnage as well.

  Perhaps that was for the best. If he ever discovered the truth behind how she was connected to Rathe, all hope of his trusting her would burn up faster than a match tossed in a haystack. Worse, having a Hunter’s help, this Hunter’s help, would even her odds of appeasing Rathe. She didn’t want Remington to know that she needed him perhaps more than he needed her.

  No, it was much better if she just avoided him and the slippery sensations he caused.

  As if summoned by her musings, he passed through the portal, blocking the way with the broad expanse of his shoulders. Immediately her traitorous heart kicked up the pace. Just being around him was enough to set off her senses in all the wrong ways. “Ah, China, I wanted to speak to you. I’ve been looking through Diego’s codex.”

  Oh, joy. How on earth could he read while bottled up in this tin can? Just the constant rumble of the engines that shook the ship and the thought of being under the endless expanse of blue made her feel woozy. The soft trace of his Bay Rum aftershave infused the air around her, adding to the dizziness, making her light-headed, but for a whole other reason.

  “Would you mind looking at these with me?”

  Yes, she minded. Because it meant she had to be close to him. But if he could act all cool and collected-like, as if there were nothing there between them, dammit, so could she. “Sure.” She followed him into the next room, lifting her troublesome skirts, careful to step over the raised edge of the connecting doors between compartments. Each door had a huge locking wheel in the center of it. Monica had said it was to keep water contained if the submarine sprang a leak, something China didn’t even want to contemplate.

  He laid the codex on the table, his finger tracing below the section he was reading. “It says here the way in is through a sacred underground entrance.”

  “Fantastic,” she said without enthusiasm. Sometimes the traits of her strongest and most frequent animal shifts tended to leak into her human form. An intense dislike for large bodies of water and swimming were among them. And she was more sensitive to it after having assumed her mountain lion form previous to boarding the submarine.

  Just beneath the codex he spread out the map he’d been sketching. “I believe the entrance will be about here. In the Veracruz area, based on the longitude and latitude notes from my mother’s diary. The captain—”

  “Monica—” China said, absently watching his lips move as he talked. And watching his lips made her remember how the man could kiss. Lord, could he kiss. And thinking about how he and Monica had been so chummy and talkative on the trip from Caborca to the submarine made her angry.

  Maybe he liked the submarine’s captain because she was human, not a Darkin. Either way, she didn’t care. He could have the girl.

  “The captain,” he continued, “said if we make land here, we will need to cross over the bottom of the Sierra Madre del Sur mountain range to reach Veracruz.”

  “And how are we going to hike across all that jungle in such a short time?”

  Remington grinned, and it was breathtaking. The man could power a whole town with the intensity of his smile alone. “You haven’t seen what they’ve got down in the hold, have you?”

  “I didn’t make a point of sneakin’ around and bein’ light-fingered if that’s what you’re askin’.” Sure, it sounded a bit snide, but she was in a twist. Nothing had felt right since she got in this tin can. Monica had made it clear from the moment they’d stepped on board that this was her domain and she was in charge. That was pain in the ass number one. China didn’t like people telling her what to do. Especially a beautiful woman who looked at Remington like he was her next meal.

  Pain in the ass number two came from the tin can itself. Truth was she’d been so seasick, walking around only made it worse, so she’d confined herself to her makeshift cabin in the map room as much as possible and avoided the mess hall and any smells of food. Since one had to pass the mess hall in route to the hold, she hadn’t bothered.

  He ignored her rebuttal completely, just like he’d mostly ignored her for the past three days. China suspected he’d been spending his time talking with the “captain” and looking over his books. Other than a polite howdy-do in the confined passageways of the ship, he’d mostly kept himself too busy to spend any time talking to her, but seemed to be somehow constantly in her space regardless, as if he were checking on her.

  “They have one of Marley’s Blasters and a Spider Walker.” She had no idea what he was blathering on about, but his eyes were so bright and his manner so genuinely excited, like a kid on his birthday, that she became infected by his enthusiasm.

  “A Blaster, huh? That some sort of gun?”

  “It’s based on the technology Marley used in Colt’s Sting Shooter.” China was familiar enough with that little weapon to know it could blow a hole clean through a man from ten feet away with nothing more than an electric shot produced by a Tesla coil. It was like having lightning in your pocket. Dangerous, unstable, and highly effective.

  Now he had her attention. “A Blaster sounds like it might be a bit bigger than a Sting Shooter.”

  “It is.”

  China gave him a cat-in-the-cream smile. It sounded promising. “How big is it?”

  “Big enough to shoot a man-sized hole clear through the metal hull of this submarine.”

  “Perfect.”

/>   His face turned deadpan. “You’re not shooting the submarine.”

  Damn. She’d been hopeful that she might be able to once she was off of it. “Well, not while we’re in it. But I’m sure there’s at least one or two things we’ll need the Blaster for in the deep, dark jungle.”

  “Hopefully we’ll be able to travel right over the mountains and jungle in the Spider Walker.”

  China screwed her face up. She’d changed into a lot of things before, but never a spider. She didn’t like them. All those eyes and spindly little legs gave her the jitters.

  “You all right? You look a little green, like you swallowed a bug.”

  China glared at him. The last thing she wanted was for their first major conversation in days to be about how horrible she looked. “How sure are you this Spider Walker thing will work?”

  Remington shrugged. “Haven’t any clue. But most of Marley’s inventions are utterly brilliant.”

  “Or a horrible failure,” she shot back. “I saw the scars Colt had from a close encounter with one of Marley’s mechanical cacti that Colt says he’s got as security around his place.” She shook her head. “Those were nasty scars.” She intentionally didn’t mention they were on Colt’s ass. Things were already weird enough between her and Remington without bringing up his brother’s intimate body parts.

  Remington knew precisely where Colt had his scars from the mechanical cacti. He’d helped Marley pull the metal barbs out and had held his brother down while Marley stitched him up. His insides curled with a strange, burning heat. What in tarnation was that? Jealousy? He absently rubbed at his stomach, hoping to ease the uncomfortable sensation. “I know the ones.”

  Since when had he ever been jealous of one of Colt’s many conquests? Never. That’s when. Usually their taste in women was so completely different, it hadn’t mattered. He liked smart women with a bit of spunk. Colt wasn’t as picky. He liked women so long as they were available and pretty.

  She stared at him with those wide gray eyes fringed in sable lashes. “You do?” She swallowed, and he watched the movement down the length of her neck.