He imagined dipping his head and running his tongue across the honeyed flesh, but settled for brandishing a fist full of lipsticks, mascara, and eyeliner pencil.
“All right, maybe not essential, but important. And I’m not going to let you change the subject. Did we actually share a dream?”
“No.” Not a lie exactly.
She narrowed her eyes, her glance long and assessing. “You were flying and I somehow connected with you while dreaming?”
Damn.
He couldn’t lie to her directly. “That about sums it up.”
She sucked her lip. He really wished she wouldn’t do that. The sight of her lip emerging, rouged, moist, and plump, acted like a hand on his cock.
He stalked to the undersized window.
Anjali eyed Jake’s tense body.
He’d taken everything else in stride. Why was he so upset about her dream wanderings? It made no sense, but the stiff line of his shoulders and back made his feelings clear.
She wanted to go to him, to stroke his powerful back, slip her arm around his waist, lean her head on his shoulder, but she hesitated, unsure of her welcome.
She gave in to the desire to touch him though, placing her hand on his shoulder blade. He shuddered and she stepped back, damning the impulse, eyes burning at the rejection. “You really should rest. Surely we can spare an hour?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I think I can fly us out of here. So I guess we can spare the time.”
“Yo, Coventry!”
Zara grinned into her cell phone. “Don’t you know any other greeting, Derek?” She covered a yawn. “What are you doing up?” She peered at the bedside clock. “We don’t have to be to work for hours.”
“I called the preserve this morning. They have motion-activated cameras at various waterholes. Guess what they caught on camera last night?”
The lion. Zara gasped in amazement and sat up. “No way.”
“Way. It’s in your email.”
Zara thumbed into her email. Seconds later the picture was open in front of her.
A male African lion.
“That thing’s big. Lord, almighty.”
“You mentioned my name?” Derek said.
“You are amazing, Derek.” She smooched the phone. “I’ll meet you at work in an hour. I take back everything I ever said about you.”
“What—?”
Zara laughed as she cut him off mid sputter, closing the phone with a click. God, I love the news business.
Anjali checked Jake from where she sat by the cabin window and smiled. In sleep, he seemed just like the young boy she’d seen in the videos. Except sexy as hell.
Her hand ached to smooth back a strand of hair from his broad forehead. He’d been sleeping for almost forty-five minutes. He’d made her promise to wake him in an hour and though she’d like to give him more time, she wanted to live more.
She could see his eyes moving under his lids. He dreamed.
The dream link had worked one way. Would it work another? Could she enter his dream?
She shook her head. She probably could. But should she? He’d seemed upset by her earlier accidental foray. How would he react to a deliberate attempt? Badly, no doubt.
The scientist in her yearned to try. She stood and paced over to the door and then back to the table. Her feet made prints in the fine dust on the wooden floor, reminding her someone probably tracked them at that very moment.
Jake was deadly in his other shapes. He was lethal in his human body, as well, she acknowledged, remembering the strength of his hand on her throat and how easily he’d knocked Anders unconscious. But Kincaid had trapped and held him before. Didn’t they need to know everything they could about what he was capable of?
Rationalizing much, Anjali? A tiny inner voice whispered, but she ignored it. The compulsion to attempt to enter his dream was too consuming.
She squirmed in the metal folding chair for a comfortable position, and shut her eyes, focusing on calm, trying to subdue her roiling nerves.
Any weapon they could exploit against Kincaid was worth Jake’s anger. She hoped.
She focused on even respiration, trying to clear her mind and banish outside concerns.
Despite the open window, the cabin roasted under the desert sun. She scratched an itch at her hairline and found it damp with sweat. A drop rolled down the side of her face. There was a breeze outside, but it was eerily silent with no large vegetation to brush past.
Her stomach gurgled. They’d found some canned food in one of the cupboards, long forgotten by the owners no doubt. But a can of peaches wouldn’t hold her long.
She gave up concentrating on her own respiration and began listening to Jake’s. In and out. In and out. She inhaled and exhaled in sync with him. The rhythm lulled her. The wall in front of her blurred, darkened, and disappeared.
When she had dreamed earlier, she’d felt as if she were the one flying. Had seen through Jake’s eyes, felt the ripple of his muscles as if they belonged to her.
This time was no different.
Anjali foundered in a swimming pool. She was inside Jake again, the feet that felt like hers stretched desperately for something solid, churning the water.
She coughed, choking, as water flooded her mouth and nose.
A scream bubbled out of her chest. She opened her mouth to let it out, but nothing emerged. A horrified spectator in Jake’s dream, all she could do was share the experience.
Men ringed the sides of the pool, long poles in their hands. Other men stood farther away, rifles trained on him. Kincaid paced by the edge, looming larger and more menacing than in real life.
Jake swam hard to the side, his arms sending up curtains of water, but a pole thrust him back to the center. He treaded water with grim desperation.
“Push him under again,” Kincaid’s voice terrified in its indifference.
Nothing she had seen in the videos had prepared her for this. She was no longer aware of her body sweltering in the cabin. Her mind was entirely encased in the reality of the dream, fighting with Jake not to go under.
A pole jabbed forward. He dodged to the side, but another was right there. It battered him with bruising force, making him submerge, and held him under for what seemed like forever. Buzzing filled Anjali’s head from lack of oxygen. Panic overwhelmed her.
Jake shoved at the heavy shaft, fighting to get to the surface; frantic to snatch a gasp of air, but the pole wouldn’t budge. The water pressed in on him. Fear strafed through Anjali.
They were going to drown.
Then as his vision grayed, as he opened his mouth to inhale water, the pressure released. He shot to the surface, wheezing and gasping. The water he had whipped into waves with his struggles, splashed into his mouth.
Air had barely filled his lungs before Kincaid said, “Again.”
“No.” Jake’s voice was raspy. “No more.”
“We’re done when I say we’re done.”
Anjali’s throat ached with soundless screams.
The pole plunged him down again. His muscles burned with exhaustion, his eyes from the chlorine, and his chest from lack of oxygen.
He dislodged the rod and stole a gulp of air. Another pole skewered his solar plexus. It was blunt, but landed like a punch, more air escaped his lungs. He swallowed some water and retched. The pole lifted for a moment so he could get air, and then returned.
Again and again, Kincaid drove him to the edge of unconsciousness. Pain lanced though him repeatedly, vomit scalded his throat more than once, but still the torture continued.
Anjali sobbed as she felt every blow and every scrap of fear and helpless rage building like a powder keg inside Jake.
Finally the dragon tore from his inner cage.
A shout of savage joy impinged on her consciousness and some part of her realized it was she who shouted. Jake’s sudden increase in mass sent a wave cresting over the rim of the pool, slicking the concrete deck.
He launched out of the wat
er, slashing at the men with taloned claws, buried his teeth in a man’s arm. Shots rang out dozens of times. Most ricocheted off his scales, but one hit true. He crashed to the deck.
When nothingness swallowed them, all she felt was relief.
Kyle rubbed his tired eyes and tried to concentrate on the paperwork he’d been too busy to handle the last few days. The mid-afternoon sun, slanting through the windows behind him, warmed his back.
John phased in. Kyle leaped to his feet, alarmed. His friend saved phasing for emergencies. “What is it?”
“I think it’s better if I show you.” John picked up the remote control for the TV hanging on the wall, and turned it on.
A male news anchor sat at a desk. The logo in the lower right-hand corner identified the station as ANN, the All News Network.
A photo with the green cast of a night vision scope dominated the upper right corner of the screen. In it the side profile of a massive male African lion could clearly be seen. The caption “African Lion Stalks Mojave National Preserve?” flashed beneath the photo.
“Fuck,” Kyle said, burying his head in his hands. “This is my fault. I should have gone to him.”
“You had a good reason for staying.” John put a hand on his shoulder.
Kyle jumped to his feet. His friend’s palm fell away. “I always have a good reason.”
“Ky, stop beating yourself up and get out there.”
“You can get there faster.” He paced, hands churning his hair.
“And then what? I can’t track him in who knows how many square miles of desert.”
“But—” Torn, Kyle gazed up at the ceiling as if he could see though it to the occupant of the second level.
“She’s sedated. I’ll keep her under until you get back. Hey—” John took him by the shoulders and spun him, pinning him with the flash of his demon fire eyes. “Go find your brother.”
The volume on the TV seemed to rise as the news anchor went to location, drawing their attention to the scene where a slim woman, teeth flashing white in contrast with her creamy caramel skin, interviewed an orange-vested hunter. “Sir, are you nervous to be in the preserve with a lion at large?”
He grinned. The smile stretched a face so wrinkled it appeared to be made of rubber. “Hell, no! I came for cottontail, but if I can, I’m gonna bag me a lion.”
“Are you seeing this?” Clara’s strident voice over the phone forced Gareth to move the instrument a bit further from his ear. His desk chair creaked as he leaned back.
The scene on the TV turned to a commercial, but he barely noticed, he was too busy thinking of some way to spin shit into gold.
“Of course.” He struggled to keep his tone even. “I’ve had someone monitoring the media since he escaped. Relax. My operative entered the preserve this morning.”
“Relax?” She almost snorted. “How can I relax when the whole world is watching?”
“There’s a bright side, if we’re lucky, maybe someone will kill him for us.”
Anjali came to herself and found her cheeks wet and cold with tears, her body shaking.
Jake roused. He glanced at her from his position on the bed. The expression on his face as he realized she’d lived his nightmare with him squeezed her heart.
She held her hand up to him. “I had to know if it could be done voluntarily.”
“Well, now you know.” He flipped over, turned away. It seemed he was always turning away, but this time she’d earned it.
His posture, his refusal to meet her eyes, seared her with guilt. Her chest hurt. She felt as she had as a child when her lack of self-control had disgusted her father. “Jake—I . . .” What could she say? She deserved his anger.
“Get your things,” he said as he sat up and grabbed his boots. His voice sounded gruff. “We’ve got to get moving.”
Chapter 22
The remnants of the nightmare lingered as Jake stuffed his feet into the black, leather boots. He laced them with enough force to shake the metal bed frame. He didn’t blame Anjali for her curiosity. She was a doctor, a rational type.
What she had done was rational, logical. But he hated that she’d seen him at his most helpless. Could see the pity on her face, smell it in her scent.
Worse, he felt like a goddamn fool.
Kincaid had suckered him into believing his bullshit all those years. Jake closed his eyes, remembering the hundreds of crucibles he had been put through in the name of therapy or science or whatever crap Kincaid had thought of at the time. Trials clearly intended to make him change, to examine his thresholds and test his limits for what purpose he could only guess.
“Jake?” Anjali’s voice trembled.
He could hear the guilt in her voice, smell the salt of tears. His protective instincts rose up in reaction, urging him to go to her, to reassure her, but he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.
The event he’d been dreaming about wasn’t even the worst thing Kincaid had done. A shudder gripped him as he imagined her witnessing one of Kincaid’s more degrading tests. The heavily made-up “study partners” who pawed him, using their hands and mouths to try and arouse him, or the many unsedated medical procedures he now realized were actually research tests.
The memory ignited a seething fury, reviving the lion. God Damnit. He snatched long, deep, gulps of oxygen, straining for mastery over the creature.
Anjali touched him, her cool hand on his shoulder transforming the fire in his belly from anger to passion. Still sitting, he faced her.
Her head wasn’t that much higher than his. He caught her wrists and towed her closer so she stood between his legs. She let him.
Her thick lashes were spiky with the remains of tears, her nose a tiny bit red. Ashy crescents marred the skin under her eyes.
She was gorgeous.
He could hear her heart fluttering in her chest like a moth against a lamp. Her teeth pinched her bottom lip briefly, making it plump and red. He lowered his head and skimmed the tip of his tongue across the place where her teeth had been, the way he’d always wanted to.
A groan rumbled in his chest. “You taste . . . so damn sweet.”
She closed her eyes for a second, refusing to look at him, her gaze on the floor. “Jake, I’m—”
“Shh,” he husked. “It’s OK.”
“I intruded on your privacy.” Her voice was a husky whisper.
A laugh huffed from his chest. “I’ve been in a facility on and off for almost fifteen years. What’s privacy? I just hate for you to know how goddamn weak I was.”
“Weak?” New tears glossed Anjali’s eyes. “After what they did to you, you should be a psychopath.” She brushed his hair back out of his eyes. The tenderness of her gaze sliced him to the bone, tripping his heart and robbing him of air.
He stared at the floor, but her hand, soft and warm, cupped his chin and tipped his face back to hers. She stroked her thumb along the line of his jaw as if testing the length of his stubble. The sensation sent his body leaping into aching life. Her silky dark lashes swept down for a moment, almost close enough to brush his cheekbone. He glanced at her parted lips, so full and lush, their rosy curves begging for a lick or a nip.
Her breath came faster, brushing his mouth, the moist warm rush electric as an exposed wire. Her scent swirled around him. He soaked in her closeness, his body too heavy to lift, his muscles liquefied. Even if he could, he didn’t dare move. Her eyes, her warmth, her lips, the hand on his jaw—every contact point buzzed through him with a dizzying joy. The moment spun out, unbearably thrilling, an intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure.
The kiss was worse and so, so much better.
Her lips were soft, unbelievably soft. Heat flamed through him. The sweet, sweet ache sang through him like a melody, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and inspiring goose bumps. She shivered against him.
Hungry for more, he slid his hand up under her hair, and cupped her head, sliding his hand deep into her braid. She made a sound ripe with frustration
and he drew back, skating a questioning gaze over her upturned face.
Her eyelids swept down, lashes shadowy on her cheeks. She grabbed the end of her braid and slid the holder off, holding his eyes as she shook out her hair.
Such a tiny thing, that slight undressing, but it provoked a surge of electricity down his body. “You are so beautiful.” He cast a glance at the ceiling. “God, that was inane.” His finger stroked her velvety cheek. “I don’t have the words. You make other women seem like cardboard cut-outs.”
Pink suffused her cheeks. Her gaze found the floor. “Have there been many?” She pressed her lips together as if afraid to hear the answer.
“None.”
Her mouth curved into a startled “Oh.” Her brow furrowed. “But you’re so . . .”
He searched her face for some clue to what she had been going to say. “Sooo?”
A rueful smile skewed her lips. “Beautiful.” The wisp of a chuckle escaped her. “There’s that word again.”
“It doesn’t seem inane coming from you. Delusional . . .” Yeah, woman seemed to like him, but Kincaid and the guards had taken great pains to make sure he knew he could break mirrors with his face.
She framed his features with her hands. “Jake Finn, I grew up in Bombay. Home of Bollywood. I have seen good-looking men. None of them hold a candle to you.”
He sighed. Guilt raked through him. How could he make love to her when he hadn’t been completely honest with her? When he planned to leave her? “Anjali, there’s something I haven’t told you.”
The words washed over her like a cold wave, and Anjali almost flinched. What could he have to tell her?
His mouth was set in a grim line. She sensed his reluctance to continue. Fear iced her blood. Part of her wanted to trace that stern line with her tongue, erase the words hiding behind those chiseled lips with a heated kiss, but she waited, mustering her defenses against the unknown declaration poised to crush her.
“We’re mates.”
Anjali took a moment to understand his meaning. “I take it you don’t mean like Aussie for friends.”
“No. I mean like animal kingdom mates.”
In Like a Lion (The Chimera Chronicles) Page 17
