Navy SEAL Rescue

by Susan Cliff

  Hud had no idea what she was saying, but her enthusiasm was infectious, and the ruins were stunning. She was stunning. It was impossible not to admire her passion and verve. When she got excited about something, her eyes outshone the stars.

  When they reached the main building, her face fell. There were broken statues among the rubble, with headless animal figures and piles of debris. Arabic graffiti was painted across ancient stone walls.

  She covered her mouth with one hand, horrified. Yusef put his arm around her. She let out a choked sob, her shoulders shaking.

  Hud examined the senseless destruction around them. He knew that the Da’esh had destroyed artifacts in Syria and Iraq. They’d bulldozed museums and vandalized historic sites. He hadn’t expected to encounter the evidence of their dark deeds in Turkey. Nor had he expected to be so personally offended by it.

  The Da’esh had captured and tortured him. They were his enemies and his targets. He already hated them. What they’d done here ratcheted that feeling up a notch. It was like seeing a swastika scrawled on a synagogue.

  The mood was somber as they toured the rest of the site. Most of the damage was limited to one area. Near the top of the fortress, they found the remnants of a fire. Hud crouched down to touch the ashes. They were cold. He had no way of knowing if the vandals had made this fire. Whoever it was, they were long gone now.

  Layah glanced around, taking a deep breath. “We should set up camp.”

  They continued to a small clearing behind a crumbling stone wall. There was a grassy spot for their tents. Hud collected firewood and made a small pit at the base of the wall. They drank tea and studied the crackling flames.

  Although the actions of the Da’esh had put a damper on the evening, they rallied. The Assyrians were a resilient sort, determined to make the best of things. Aram had refilled his liquor bottle with Yazidi moonshine, which he passed around the circle. Hud took a swig and gave it to Layah. She gulped the rest, grimacing. Then she handed the empty bottle to Ashur. Everyone laughed at his disappointment.

  Yusef teased Ashur about something related to Hanna and they all laughed again. Hud didn’t understand the words but he understood the context. Ashur shook his head in denial, scrubbing his cheek as if he had girl cooties. Then Layah told a ghost story. Hud watched her animated expressions and graceful gestures, committing the details to memory. He didn’t feel like an outsider anymore, despite the language barrier. He was comfortable among her people. He’d tried to keep his distance, and failed.

  Nina sang an Assyrian folk song before they went to bed. Yusef clapped and Oshana danced by firelight, barefoot and lovely. Aram captured his pretty young wife and dragged her into the tent. Nina and Yusef called it a night, as well.

  “You should rest,” Layah said to Ashur.

  “I’ll take first watch,” Hud said.

  Ashur yawned, nodding his agreement. He went to join the others, but stopped short. “I have to sleep in your tent,” he mumbled.

  She motioned for him to go ahead. The reason for the change became apparent when breathy feminine sounds emerged from the tent. Hud couldn’t tell if it was Nina or Oshana. Maybe both, on separate ends.

  He arched a brow at Layah. “Your cousins do everything together, don’t they?”

  She laughed, rising to her feet. “Come. I will take watch with you.”

  He jumped at the offer, though he knew better. His commitment to proper conduct had cracked under the stress of the circumstances. He was only human. He’d been held captive for two months. If his worst crime after escaping that hellhole was succumbing to the charms of a beautiful woman, so be it.

  Not that he planned on sleeping with her. Not tonight, outdoors, with her cousins near. He also didn’t have any condoms, and he was supposed to be keeping watch. He brought one of the wool blankets, though. Might as well get cozy while he avoided temptation.

  They hunkered down on the other side of the fortress wall, away from the firelight. He set the rifle in a safe place and arranged the blanket. She snuggled against him. He stared across the dark, deserted hillside. The river glittered in the moonlight.

  “Why are you going to Armenia?” he asked.

  “It is my father’s homeland, and we have nowhere else to go. The Da’esh have invaded every Assyrian community in the region.”

  “Why do they target Assyrians?”

  “Some say it is because of American interference. They want to kill all Christians in retaliation.”

  “They kill Muslims, too.”

  “Yes. They kill everyone who opposes them. It is sad that we have been forced out instead of them. Parts of Syria, Iraq and Turkey should belong to us. Assyrians have lived here for thousands of years.”

  “You can’t stay in Turkey?”

  “It is not safe.”

  “The Turks won’t protect you from the Da’esh?”

  “The Turks are not our allies. They are responsible for the genocide that killed two-thirds of the Assyrian population.”

  “When was this?”

  “A hundred years ago, but not forgotten. Also, it is rumored that they have joined forces with the Da’esh to defeat the Kurds.”

  He nodded his understanding. Like all things in the Middle East, their situation was complicated. Now that he’d seen the evidence of their persecution with his own eyes, he sympathized with her on a deeper level.

  “I fled to Syria to escape war,” she continued. “I returned to Iraq for the same reason. I do not wish to settle in another unstable place. Armenia has known many years of peace, and our people are welcome there.”

  “Do you speak Armenian?”

  “A little.”

  “How many other languages?”

  “Four or five.”

  “Which is it? Four or five?”

  “I am fluent in English, Arabic, Assyrian and Kurdish. I also know a bit of Farsi and Armenian.”

  He counted on his fingers. “That’s six.”

  “But I only speak four well.”

  “I only speak one well. If that.”

  “You can learn another.”

  He turned toward her, studying her face. A week ago, he’d had no interest in learning Arabic. Now he wanted to learn her ways. He wanted to know every inch of her. When he cupped her chin with one hand, she didn’t pull away. He rubbed his thumb over her parted lips. “What is the word for this?”

  “Mouth or kiss?”

  “Both.”

  “Bosa is kiss.”

  “Bosa,” he said, touching his lips to hers.

  “Mouth is fum.”

  “Fum.” He kissed her again.

  “Tongue is lisan.”

  “Lisan,” he said, and gave it to her, plundering the depths of her mouth. She returned his kiss with a low moan. Her tongue touched his shyly and her fingers laced through his hair. She tasted like Yazidi liquor and female spice, a delicious combination. He settled against her, learning all her sensitive places. His lips traced the silky column of her throat while his hands roamed. Her hijab fell away, and he pulled his shirt over his head. Her fingertips danced across the surface of his chest.

  He paused, taking a ragged breath. He was already throbbing with arousal, near the point of no return. “When I have you, it will be somewhere private,” he murmured in her ear. “So you can scream my name in pleasure, over and over again, without anyone hearing.”

  Her fingertips explored lower. “You are very confident.”

  He captured her hand and molded it over his erection.

  “Is this the source of your confidence?”

  “It’s one of them.”

  She let out a shaky laugh, sliding her palm along his length. “As a medical professional, I know that size is not linked to female satisfaction.”

  “But?”

  “I think more research must b
e done.”

  He kissed her again. He couldn’t make love to her here, but he didn’t want to stop yet. Her body felt like heaven underneath his. He untied the string over her collarbone, loosening her blouse. Her breasts were bound with a scarf. One tug exposed her bountiful flesh. He lifted his head to stare. He hadn’t expected to undress her so easily, or to be so dazzled by the sight. Her breasts were soft and round and perfect.

  “How do you say beautiful?” he asked.

  “Jamila,” she whispered.

  He repeated it with reverence, nuzzling her soft flesh.

  “Hudson?”

  “Call me William,” he said.

  “William? Is that your name?”

  He nodded, wrestling with the fabric of her skirt. He almost swallowed his tongue when he realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. “Jesus.”

  “William.”

  He lifted his gaze to her face. “Yes?”

  “I would also like privacy, when we are together. This is not safe.”

  He glanced around the dark hillside, considering. They weren’t exactly alone, and he needed to stay alert, but he could still give her pleasure. He might never get the opportunity to do this in a real bed. “Let me touch you.”

  She nibbled her lower lip, uncertain.

  He waited for her to say no, but she didn’t. A flash of intuition told him that she enjoyed a hint of danger, the same way he did. She’d recognized the trait in him because she shared it. “Lift your skirt.”

  She seemed scandalized by the order. “What if I scream?”

  “I’ll cover your mouth with mine.”

  After a short hesitation, she leaned back against the rock wall and tugged the fabric up her thighs. His arousal swelled to a painful hardness. He pushed her knees apart and left them open. He imagined pressing his tongue to her and tasting her sweetness. Moistening his lips, he returned his attention to her breasts. He suckled her nipples, cupping her soft flesh. Her fingers twined in his hair again and the rest of the world fell away. He left her nipples taut and wet. When his hand moved up her thigh, her breaths quickened with excitement.

  She was slippery with arousal, ripe for his touch. He lifted his head from her breasts and watched her face as he stroked her. She wasn’t difficult to please. His fingertips circled her swollen bead of flesh. He’d like to know the word for that in Arabic, but he decided not to ask. She gripped his wrist suddenly, shuddering with pleasure. He crushed his mouth over hers to muffle her soft cries.

  Although he hadn’t planned anything beyond giving her a quick orgasm, he was desperate for release. He fumbled for the buttons on his fly with his free hand. Then he stroked himself with fingers still slick from her body.

  She watched him perform the crude task with half-lidded eyes. He was beyond embarrassment, and he knew women liked his size. His gaze moved from her face to her unbound breasts and pouty nipples. He wasn’t hard to please, either. He came with a smothered groan, spilling his seed in the dirt.

  When his sense of decorum returned, he tucked himself in and buttoned his pants. She fixed her blouse and straightened her skirt. In less than a minute, they were both fully composed, as if he hadn’t just brought her to climax and jerked off beside her.

  “Should I apologize?” he asked.

  “For what?”

  “Dishonoring you.”

  She leaned toward him and brushed her lips over his. “I like your methods of dishonoring, William Hudson.”

  “In that case, let’s do it again.”

  “Do you have the same appetite for women that you have for food?”

  “Not for any woman. Just you.”

  She smiled at his response, patting his cheek. She didn’t believe him. She’d let him touch her because she was a lonely young widow who missed the pleasures of the bedroom. She was still mourning her ex-husband. Hud got the impression that she’d been a well-satisfied wife. He felt another surge of jealousy toward Khalil, along with a grudging respect.

  Even if Layah wanted a real relationship with Hud, it was impossible. They had no future together, no hope of permanence. He was a stranger in a strange land, half-broken from months of captivity, still recovering from a painful divorce.

  He needed to harden his heart and keep a cool head. If he couldn’t enjoy her body without getting attached, he had to back off. He shouldn’t be crossing the line with her, anyway. It was personally and professionally risky.

  “I will watch with you if you like,” she offered.

  “No,” he said, tugging his shirt back on. “Get some rest.”

  “Good night, then.”

  “Good night.”

  He watched her walk around the wall and crawl into the tent with Ashur. Then he picked up the rifle and trained his gaze on the dark hillside. He’d spent a thousand nights like this, guarding his comrades. Now he was guarding a band of refugees. He had to remind himself that the Assyrians weren’t his teammates. They weren’t his friends. He was sympathetic to their plight, and he cared for Layah, but he had to go his own way.

  He’d brought her people to Turkey in exchange for his freedom. He’d held up his end of the bargain.

  It was time for Layah to honor hers.

  Chapter 12

  Layah drifted in and out of sleep, plagued by strange dreams.

  Some were a pleasant rehash of her encounter with Hudson. One involved the peacock ceremony, but they were alone together. She knelt in front of the statue while he painted her naked body with a feather.

  Others were nightmares involving the Da’esh. They were chasing her around the ruins, threatening to chop off her head. She ran to the edge of a cliff and jumped, plummeting to the raging river below. Then she was inside the crevasse again, trapped underneath the glacier. Frozen in ice.

  She woke with a gasp, her hand over her heart. Ashur slept peacefully beside her. Daylight filtered into the tent.

  She emerged from the space and found her cousins sitting with Hudson. She flushed at the sight of him, but he didn’t seem fazed in the least. Perhaps he exchanged intimate acts with women as casually as he paid for a cup of coffee.

  Yusef and Aram were arguing about who had misplaced the tea, ignoring her. She breathed a sigh of relief as she joined them for breakfast. Her cousins hadn’t overheard anything last night. They’d both been too busy with their own wives to worry about what Layah was doing with Hudson.

  William.

  She banished his Christian name from her thoughts. She couldn’t call him that in front of the others. The two of them might never have another opportunity to be alone together. They might never share a bed like husband and wife.

  She didn’t blame him for rejecting the sheikh’s offer. She would have done the same. She wasn’t so desperate that she needed to trap a man into marriage. She’d been happy with Khalil. She knew how it felt to be truly loved. She would not sully her husband’s memory with a sham wedding to a reluctant partner.

  Hudson desired her, obviously. He did not love her. He would return to America, and she would carry on in Armenia.

  She felt a pang of sorrow at the thought. She had to start over. She could never go home again, and she could never go back to the way things were. Sharing a piece of herself with Hudson had altered her course forever. It would be him she pined for now, instead of Khalil.

  They shared a breakfast of almonds and raisins as the sun climbed over the horizon. Layah changed out of her Yazidi skirt, donning still-damp underwear and pants. Then they packed up and headed away from Halana. Layah glanced over her shoulder at the ruins before they disappeared. She was glad to have visited the site, even though it had sustained damage. She’d always wanted to see the ancient dwellings of her ancestors. Maybe she could return someday for a real vacation.

  They walked down into a valley and continued their descent. The river, on their r
ight, flowed into a deep gorge. Danger awaited on both sides, but she didn’t want to cross it until they had no other choice. They needed to find a shallow section, because she wasn’t a strong swimmer. Oshana and Nina couldn’t swim at all.

  Around noon, they reached the top of a plateau. The river was thirty or forty meters below, at the base of a sheer cliff. It was even warmer than she’d predicted. The sun beat down on her head and sweat trickled between her breasts. She wished for a shady tree to rest under.

  “Stop,” Hudson said.

  She froze beside him, searching the horizon. There were dark shapes kicking up a cloud of dust in the distance.

  “Those are men on horseback,” Yusef said.

  She translated for Hudson.

  “What kind of men? Da’esh invaders?”

  “I don’t know. They could also be Turkish military or Kurdish rebels.”

  Hudson studied their surroundings, his brow furrowed. The cliff side was too steep to navigate without ropes. A cluster of boulders nearby would shield them from view, but only for a few moments. On the wide plateau, there were no hiding places. “Do you want to climb down or surrender?”

  “Climb,” she said, without hesitation. She didn’t have to ask Ashur or her cousins. They were already scrambling for the equipment in their packs. They’d left the harnesses behind, but they still had rope and some other random gear. Hudson placed an anchor in the underside of a boulder and threaded the rope through it. Then he doubled the rope into two lines. That was the extent of the safety protection.

  “Is the rope long enough?” she asked.

  “It’s long enough. Hold both ropes and don’t let go.”

  “I understand.”

  “We’ll climb three at a time. You and Ashur come after me. Then Yusef and the girls. Aram will go last.”

  She translated for everyone. Aram nodded his agreement. He grabbed the rifle and got down on his belly behind the boulder, guarding their escape. The horsemen were getting closer, but they hadn’t picked up speed.