by Patti O'Shea
The High Priestess stepped back, made a slight bow to the chancel full of women, then turned to Kendall. The woman took her successor’s hand and drew her forward to the stone, then pressing Kendall’s palm flat against the rock, she chanted four words—To you I cede.
Beneath her fingers, Kendall felt the marble begin to pulse, as if the entire temple were aligning its vibration to hers. The buzzing sensation traveled up her arm, filled her body, and there was a sense of welcoming. She closed her eyes, embracing the gift being given to her. Something deep inside her, so deep she’d been unaware of its existence, sparked to life and grew until it permeated every cell of her being.
Recognition dawned. It was power. More power than she’d ever wielded before this day.
The knowledge had barely made itself known when Kendall felt the robe of High Priestess being draped around her own shoulders. It was her turn to chant four words—From you I accept.
The other woman removed her hand from atop Kendall’s and the cortege began a chant of its own. It promised fealty to their new leader, but it was the stone that continued to hold her enthralled. Some type of energy was wending itself into her soul, becoming part of her. In a corner of her mind, she thought she should be frightened—and yet there was only rightness. This was meant to be, just as her predecessor had claimed.
When she opened her eyes again, the melding was complete. Kendall gathered her robes around her and stepped forward.
Raising her right hand, she telekinetically called the pink crystal staff to her. Once she held it, she raised the glow in the chancel, making the room almost painfully bright. There were a few gasps from the priestesses. The level of illumination was directly tied to how powerful the High Priestess was, and Kendall had raised the indicator to her left off the scale. This was the only time she would have to publicly exhibit her power.
Once the required demonstration of her strength was completed, she returned the chamber to its usual level of light. She conducted the rest of the ceremony, closed it, and granted permission for the priestesses and acolytes to depart.
It wasn’t until much later, after the cortege closed the doors to her new chambers behind her that the euphoria she felt faded. Alone for the first time this day, Kendall slipped her robe off and draped it over a nearby chair. The letdown was sharp, and she paced until she saw the calling glass that her lover had given her the morning she’d been forced to enter the temple. None would recognize its function since it was unlike the usual stones used for communication, but it worked perfectly.
Sinking to the floor in front of it, she ran her finger over the top circle, picking up speed until she heard a soft hum, then she intoned the words that would connect her to him. His visage appeared almost immediately, telling her that he’d been sitting by his crystal. As she gazed at his dear face, her heart swelled with love until it ached. Her voice was choked as she whispered, “What are we going to do? Oh, my love!”
The man was Wyatt.
*** *** ***
Kendall jerked awake and sat bolt upright.
“Bug, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It was just a dream, that’s all.” Just a dream. That realization allowed her to take a deep breath and work on slowing her racing heart. Even as she closed her eyes and tried to fix the details in her mind, she felt the specifics fade. Kendall fought to hold on to them, but while she remained aware of major points, the little things were gone.
Wyatt put his arm over her shoulders and she went rigid before she could prevent it. Kendall fought the urge to pull away and forced some of the tension from her muscles. She’d already hurt him several times since they’d been imprisoned in the temple, and she’d try not to do it again. Reluctantly, she let him gather her close, but his nearness made her uncomfortable.
“That must have been some nightmare,” he said quietly. “Was it about the body we found?”
Kendall fought off the image that immediately came to mind—she refused to think about it till they were safe—and shook her head. “It wasn’t a nightmare, just a dream. But no, it wasn’t about the stooge.” She knew he was going to ask questions, so she added, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Especially not when her illicit lover had been Wyatt.
She itched to look up in her dream dictionary the elements she still remembered, but maybe she didn’t need the book—the events had seemed more straightforward than symbolic. Dreaming about the temple made sense—she was trapped inside it—and the vibrating stone was logical too; she’d hallucinated that very thing because of her oxygen deprivation. Even the part about Wyatt fit. They had kissed today, and she’d been hot for him. And damn it, she was still a bit aroused.
Now that her dreams made sense, Kendall relaxed—straight into Wyatt’s side. She stiffened again, then gave up. What the hell? It was just a kind of hug, something friends did all the time—right? Besides, his touch seemed to calm her, and at this moment, she needed that.
“Do you think they’re still searching for us?” she asked. Instead of looking at Wyatt, Kendall stared straight ahead. They were in a room off the corridor, tucked out of sight from the doorway, and though the lighting was dim, she could clearly see the gems inlaid in the opposite wall. They seemed to sparkle, to call to her, and she fought the need to cross to them.
“Yeah, they’re not going to give up even if they did lose a man, not when we can bring down their whole operation.” Wyatt’s voice almost made her start. “Are they searching for us right this minute?” He shrugged. “Who knows?”
Kendall nodded absently; she was attempting to identify the pale pink stone in the geometric design. It was the color of the scepter in her dream tonight and scattered throughout the temple and the city. She must have looked it up in her reference book dozens of times, but she couldn’t remember what the book said. No doubt she should be concentrating on the smugglers and their close call instead of crystals—she knew how worried Wyatt was—but she felt more in control when it came to the rocks.
“Kunzite!” she blurted, identifying the jewel at last.
“I could make a really lame joke,” Wyatt said, “but I won’t. You can thank me later.” She looked at him and he winked. “What the heck did you just say, though? Kunzite?”
“It’s a stone, that light pink one.” Kendall pointed to the mosaic. “I’ve been trying to place it since we came in here.”
“You realize that this is an alien planet, right? That they might have pink stones here that we don’t have on Earth?”
She wrinkled her nose at his tone. “Yes, I’m aware of that.” But she knew she was right.
Kunzite. She wracked her memory for its properties. The gemstones had to be important to this society, and the information might help—somehow. A wisp came into her brain. The rock got rid of negative energy. And what else?
Stones always had multiple purposes. Wyatt hugged her tighter and another characteristic popped into her head. Love. This gemstone was largely centered on the heart chakra; it affected self-love, unconditional love, and—Kendall gulped—romantic love.
Then she almost laughed aloud over her own irrational fear. So what if a stone’s energy worked on romantic love? It couldn’t create what wasn’t there, and she had free will—all humans did. She was getting a little freaked because of that kiss she’d shared with Wyatt, and her body’s silly reaction.
“Bug,” his drawl interrupted her thoughts, “there’s something I better tell you.”
“What’s that?” she asked. The tone of his voice not only knocked thoughts of gems out of her head, it raised trepidation.
“You know how I grabbed your hand and we ran after I checked out that thief’s body?”
Kendall shifted so she could see his face. It broke their embrace, and while part of her missed the closeness, a bigger part of her was grateful for an excuse to put distance between them. “Yeah, I remember that. So?”
“My plan was to take the route we’d already traveled. Not only did I have an idea where we wer
e, but we’d likely avoid any hidden snares since we’d successfully traveled those hallways once.” She thought she detected a slight flush on Wyatt’s cheekbones. “Somewhere, though, I must have taken a wrong turn and when we kept running...”
He went quiet and Kendall leaned forward, urging him on. He couldn’t mean they were—no, of course not. He was Spec Ops, and had been through training she probably didn’t even know existed. “What are you saying?”
As he took her hand, he linked his fingers with hers. “We’re lost, darlin’.”
Chapter Eight
Wyatt sat with his back against the wall, his forearms resting atop his upraised knees, as he watched Kendall sleep. He had to get her out of here alive.
He really wished Bug remembered her last life right about now. Zolianna had been High Priestess of the temple; if she recalled that time, Bug could simply guide them to an alternate exit, and they’d be safe in their own beds by tonight.
But she didn’t remember a damn thing. Not consciously.
He blew out a long breath. No sense dwelling on it. Most people didn’t recall their past lives, and he shouldn’t have expected Kendall to be any different. His awareness was a fluke, a cosmic joke. What else could it be when it had affected everything? When he couldn’t tell anyone about it, not even Bug? Hell, how many times had he wished his memories were all some fantasy? But he’d known it was a past life—had always known—and he’d never had a choice except to believe it was true.
He’d always imagined that when he found the woman who’d been Zolianna, he’d finally have someone to share this with. But Bug got jittery and quickly changed the subject whenever he’d tried to discuss reincarnation.
Shaking his head, Wyatt forced himself to focus on their current reality.
They were stuck in a labyrinth with little food or water and were being hunted by smugglers who wanted them dead. And as an extra added layer of difficulty, the maze was booby trapped. The damn thing was that circumstances could be a lot worse. They could have been the ones to spring that snare.
God, the thought of Bug hanging there, a dozen metal spikes through her body, made his heart stop. Wyatt could still see the thief clearly. Kendall had turned away, but he’d needed to check things out. As horrible as the man had looked from a distance, that was nothing compared to up close. The worst of it was the spike that had gone through his skull and exited through his eye socket. Wyatt figured if they got out of this alive, he and Bug would be dealing with the aftermath for a while.
Examining the man, though, had revealed one thing. Despite the head wound, it was unlikely that he’d died instantly. Not judging by the amount of blood. How long had he been conscious? Seconds? Minutes? They’d heard nothing, and that worried Wyatt. If sound was dampened in here the way he was starting to fear, he and Bug could turn a corner, and without warning, walk right into the thieves. And the bad guys could be anywhere—in front of them, behind them, off to the side—he had no way to know.
The booby traps were problematic. Those things could be hidden anywhere, and he hadn’t been able to figure out what had triggered the one that killed the thief. His best guess was some kind of pressure-sensitive plate, but it was a stab in the dark.
“You’re frowning,” Bug pointed out sleepily.
“Darlin’, we’re in a heap of trouble.”
Sitting up, she shifted until she was next to him. “Probably worse than you’ve told me, right?”
“Maybe,” he admitted.
“I thought so,” Kendall said. “On a positive note, there’s one less stooge looking for us.”
Stooge? Wyatt didn’t comment, but she’d used that nickname more than once and that made him believe Bug continued to underestimate the smugglers—not good. He needed her to be alert, and if she was writing them off as inept, she wouldn’t be watchful enough. But that was a fight he’d have with her later.
“And on a negative note,” he shot back, “we’re just as susceptible to tripping those metal spikes.”
Bug smiled at him. “On another positive note, now we know there are metal spikes to watch out for.”
Reluctantly, Wyatt found his lips twitching. It was a silly game, but hell, they needed something to reduce the tension. “On a negative note,” he said, “we don’t know how to avoid them or what would signal the presence of a trap.”
“On a positive note, with a smuggler missing too, Sullivan might discover something about him or the ring that would lead the cavalry to us.”
“The negative is that they’d have to find us inside a maze filled with the alien equivalent of land mines.”
“So much for looking on the bright side.” She wrinkled her nose. “You must not be a morning person, Wy.”
He let himself enjoy the way she shortened his name, then said, “It’s not going to look better with more sleep and a cup of coffee. We’re in a bad situation, Kendall. Really bad.”
“I know.” And surprising the hell out of him, she reached out and linked her fingers with his. It was a friendly gesture, not romantic, but she’d never before been the one who initiated touching. Wyatt savored the warmth of her skin, the softness of it, just a bit more because of that.
Turning his head so he could see her better, he studied her face. Her light brown hair obscured some of his view, and carefully—slowly—he raised his free hand and pushed it over her shoulder. There was wariness in her gaze, and something else that he couldn’t identify. Reluctantly, he lowered his arm.
Before he could tighten his hold, she slipped her hand free and ran her palm over the thigh of her fatigues. Her T-shirt had twisted so that the captain’s insignia imprinted on the left side of the chest was nearly at her shoulder. The cotton was pulled taut over her breasts, and Wyatt appreciated the sight until she tugged her shirt into place.
Reluctantly, he turned his thoughts to business. “Do you mind if I catalog what you have in your bag? I need to know what we’ve got available if I need something.”
Without a word, Kendall turned, snagged the strap, and pulled it over to him. He started with the side pockets. He found hairpins, barrettes and a comb. Bug plucked the last item from his hand and started to run it through her snarls as he watched.
Shaking off his fascination with all things Kendall, Wyatt opened the bag’s flap. There was a pocket on the inside, but it was empty. He moved to the main compartment and pulled out a sheaf of papers. After unfolding them and thumbing through them once, he started to skim the first page.
“You don’t have to read that, do you?”
“This is private? I’m sorry, darlin’.” He handed the papers to her and she folded them in half again.
“Embarrassing, more than anything else,” she said.
“Why? You write down some sexual fantasies?” Wyatt wanted to kick himself as soon as the words left his mouth, but luckily Bug didn’t take his jest seriously.
“No, I put together a paper speculating what the aliens believed about the crystals that are embedded in the walls all over the city. I was accused of writing New Age crap.”
“Whoever told you that is an idiot,” Wyatt growled. “It’s clear that the stones had meaning to the inhabitants of the Old City. Just because we don’t know what that is doesn’t mean your ideas aren’t valid.” Bug just looked at him. “You’re staring.”
“I’m sorry; you surprised me, but I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Wyatt wanted to pursue this, but it was time they got moving again. He limited himself to saying, “Don’t buy into that country-boy stereotype. I believe in all kinds of things that might shock you.” He smiled. “But even if I didn’t, I would never mock you for your beliefs.” And with that, he went back to the contents of her bag.
In his peripheral vision, Wyatt saw her gape at him for a moment longer before she resumed combing her hair. The next thing he removed from her bag was a beat-up copy of Plato’s Republic. A few sections had the page corners turned down. “A little light reading, Bug?” he teased.
<
br /> She smiled. “I wanted to review the cave analogy.”
Bug reached over, retrieved a barrette near his thigh and clipped her hair at her nape. He liked it loose—it sparked fantasies about her trailing it over his naked body—but he guessed it was easier for her fastened out of her way.
From the messenger bag, he dug out a digicam and a metal nail file with a pointed end. Flimsy, but he could cause some damage with it if the need arose. Reaching over, Kendall took the camera and snapped a shot of the gem mosaic. “There’s something different about the way the stones are positioned in the temple. I want to study it in more detail.”
Nodding, Wyatt returned to his search, but nothing else he discovered seemed helpful—just some personal hygiene items. He returned everything to where he’d found it, then slipped the nail file into a pocket of his pants.
“You didn’t come up with much, did you?”
“No,” he told her honestly, “but then I didn’t expect you to be carrying around an arsenal, no matter how bad we need one.”
“You only had one knife with you?”
“If I’d known what you were up to, I might have armed myself more heavily,” Wyatt replied. “Dang it, why didn’t you tell me about this? I knew something was eating at you.”
Kendall bit her lower lip. “I wasn’t sure enough to say anything then. What if I were wrong?”
“Then you’d be wrong.” He knew her and knew what this was all about. “You don’t have to be perfect.” Wyatt reached out, gave her knee a squeeze, and left his hand there. “I could have helped you look into this.” That reminded him of something. “I’m guessing you became more certain what was going on while I was outside the city. Did you say anything to Catfish?”
“I wanted to wait till you came back, but I was too scared.” She admitted that as if it were a huge failing, and Wyatt wished he could have ten minutes alone with her mother. Bug shouldn’t believe affection was dependent on being flawless, or that she couldn’t be the one who needed help.
