Valley of Fire (Valley of the Moon Book 2)

by Bronwyn Archer

Chapter 10

  Sinus Honoris ~ Bay of Honor

  Where’d you learn to fight like that?” It was late and we were on my bed, still in our fancy outfits, nursing our battle wounds. I sat cross-legged and barefoot, icing my lip with a washcloth filled with ice cubes. He was laying back on my pillows and had his right hand plunged into the ice bucket.

  “I had close quarters combat training at West Point. But I got plenty of practice on my own.”

  “I thought you were a lover, not a fighter,” I said jokingly.

  “Keep that ice on your lip.”

  “It’s too cold.”

  “Let’s see the damage.” He reached out and tilted my chin towards him. He gently ran his thumb over my lower lip and then ever so lightly pulled it down. He had never touched my face before. My throat tightened up. “The swelling’s gone down. Does it hurt?”

  I shook my head. He stroked his thumb along my lip. He flicked his gaze away from my lips to my eyes. I started losing myself in the depths of his tractor beams. My breathing got ragged.

  He tilted my head all the way to the right.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “This is the view I’m used to. Wanted to make sure it hadn’t changed.”

  I blushed furiously. I pressed the ice pack back to my lip and scooted off the bed.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To get ready for bed. How’s your hand?”

  “It’s sore where your boyfriend’s chin hit it.” I scowled at him and went to the bathroom. I peeled off my clothes and blotted a few drops of blood off my dress, and hung it to dry. I scrubbed my face and slipped into the silky nightgown I’d picked up on my little shopping spree. The delicate satin clung to my body and flowed to mid-thigh. Why not? What else should a soon-to-be heiress sleep in? I slipped a robe over it and walked out of the bathroom.

  Alexander was sound asleep. His lips were parted and he breathed softly. His dark hair was mussed. He looked younger. More vulnerable. I lifted his hand out of the ice bucket and dried it off. Then I gently pried his shoes off, turned off the lights, slipped out of my robe, and got under the covers.

  I lay on my side facing him. Enjoy the view. It’s the closest you’re ever going to get.

  #

  I woke up to faint knocking at the door and extreme throbbing in my head.

  The knock sounded again. I almost screamed when I heard a male voice right next to my ear mumble, “Lana, get the door.”

  My brain raced to rewind the evening. Dinner . . . the jazz club . . .

  “Room service!” someone shouted outside.

  “Lana, the DOOR,” Alexander groaned.

  I leaped up and ran to open the door, clutching my head. Tiny elves were mining my brains with pickaxes. The room service waiter handed me a tray, mumbled good morning, and left.

  I’d forgotten we had set out the breakfast room service card the night before.

  I’d also forgotten I was in a barely-there nightgown.

  I carried the tray over to the table and set it down. Coffee and beignets and fruit. I crept over to where I’d flung my bathrobe and slid one arm into it.

  “WHAT in God’s name are you wearing?”

  I froze.

  Alexander was laying on his side watching me, his eyes wide. He was bare chested. His shirt and pants were in a heap next to the bed. He must have taken them off at some point in the night, while I slept. The way the sheet was draped across him made it look like he was totally naked in the bed. My breath caught in my throat and I tugged the robe closed.

  “My new pajamas.” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head at me. “You sleep okay?” I asked. “My bed comfy enough for you?

  Hungover Alexander was maybe the hottest Alexander yet. His dark, glossy hair stuck straight up. His dimples deepened as he watched me.

  “Yeah . . . sorry. I must have passed out.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Hope my presence didn’t bother you too much.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Nope. Slept like a baby,” I chirped. I poured two cups of coffee and set them on the bedside table. I didn’t normally drink coffee but my head felt like it was going to explode.

  “Told you New Orleans would be fun.” He reached for his coffee and winced. “Oh no,” he groaned.

  “What happened?”

  He held up his right hand. I gasped. The entire hand was swollen from palm to finger. He wiggled his fingers and grimaced. “Your boyfriend is what happened.”

  “Yikes. I guess that’s sort of my fault. Sorry.”

  “It’s my fault for promising your dad I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “He wasn’t hurting me.” The irony was that Alexander was going to hurt me worse than any other guy ever could.

  And there’d be no one for anyone to fight.

  He took the coffee cup in his left hand and took a swig. The rumpled white bedsheet was pushed down to his waist. He caught me glancing at his stomach. “Looks like I took off my clothes in my sleep.” He grinned. “Unless you tore them off me?”

  My cheeks burned under the glare of his hotness. “Wasn’t me.”

  He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Do you think you can go one day without flirting with strangers?”

  “Can you?”

  “Who, me? Oh, the bartender? She was nice! Oh, she gave me directions to someplace she said I had to check out while we were in town . . . wait, what was it?” He rubbed his forehead and squinted.

  “Directions to her apartment?”

  He laughed. “I’m almost done with my penance, Lana. Think I’d crack now? Although I do recall she had some very impressive—” I rolled my eyes “—tattoos,” he continued. “Tattoos, Lana.”

  “What does your tattoo say?” I blurted it out without thinking.

  His hand holding the coffee cup froze in mid-air. He carefully set it down on the bedside table and cleared his throat. “The name of my best friend. He was killed in combat in Afghanistan.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Matthew Bard. We called him Bardo. We met in grade school in Virginia and stayed friends after I moved to California. He was a year older than me, but we were like brothers. After he got in to West Point, he pushed me to apply.” He scratched his eye and then rubbed it with the back of his hand. “I got the news right before my last game. I played like shit and got hurt. And that was it.” He cleared his throat and finished his coffee.

  “I’m so sorry. Losing someone that close to you is harder when it’s . . . unexpected.”

  I shook my head and blinked back my own emotions. His eyes were filled with compassion. I wanted to ask him more questions. Why had he left West Point? Because he couldn’t play football? Wouldn’t you want to stay so you could go fight the guys who killed your friend? It seemed slightly out of character for him. Unless he’d been so emotionally wrecked he could no longer cope.

  I set my questions aside, clambered off the bed, and helped myself to two beignets.

  “These are absolutely delicious.”

  “Can you hand me some ice while you’re over there?”

  I wiped my hands off, fished some ice out of the water pitcher the waiter had delivered with breakfast, and fashioned a rudimentary ice pack using one of the huge cloth napkins. He propped his hand on a pillow and I gingerly pressed the ice pack onto it.

  As I did, my robe slipped off one shoulder.

  “How’s that feel?” I asked.

  “Good,” he said, his voice quiet. “Pajamas have bunnies and reindeer on them.” I looked down. The gossamer silk clung unforgivingly to my chest and tummy. My heart sped up. “That’s not pajamas.”

  “If you sleep in it, it’s pajamas,” I retorted. “Besides, I needed something to sleep in besides your old t-shirt.”

  He reached over and slipped a finger underneath the thin satin nightgown strap where it rested on my stitches. My breath hitched and goosebumps colonized my arms and legs.

  “Stitches look good. Heali
ng nicely,” he said softly. I couldn’t move. We were so close I could smell remnants of his cologne and sense the heat of his skin.

  He drew his hand away to glance at his watch and the spell was broken.

  “Can you be packed and showered in 20 minutes?”

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “Yeah.”

  “Good, because you’re driving.”

  #

  “The pedals are super responsive, this is a V12, so you don’t want to jam down on anything—LANA!”

  I jammed my foot on the gas and the Vanquish leapt forward with a satisfying roar.

  “Relax,” I purred. “I drive a Ferrari, remember? And I outran the Russian mob.”

  Alexander grabbed the arm rest. “Just take it easy, okay? This car cost three hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Worth every penny.” I changed lanes with a tiny flick of the wheel and giggled. “The Vicodin should kick in pretty soon,” I said. I’d given him the last one in my bottle. “Why don’t you take a nap?” He adjusted the Ace bandage I’d wrapped around his right hand and leaned back in his seat.

  “If I fall asleep, don’t crash, don’t speed, and don’t get pulled over. We have 48 hours to get to New York, we can’t afford to lose any more time.”

  “Where should we stop tonight?”

  “How long can you stay awake?”

  #

  Turns out I can stay awake a long time when I’m driving an Aston Martin.

  “Add this to the list of things we’re not telling your dad.” Alexander gave up trying to crack open a can of Red Bull with his bandaged right hand and held it out towards me. I opened it with one hand as I drove and took a swig.

  “They’re pretty good,” I said. “Wait—can you overdose on caffeine?”

  “Probably, but I need to keep this caravan moving. Thanks for letting me nap.”

  We’d crossed through Louisiana and the southern coasts of Mississippi and Alabama and were already halfway across the Florida panhandle. Tornado alerts and massive thunderstorms in the Atlanta area had forced me to stay on Interstate 10, so we were heading straight to the Atlantic Ocean, where we’d make the big left turn north—to New York.

  He held out his good hand and I passed him the can of Red Bull. He took a giant swig and handed it back. “I can’t believe I broke my hand defending your honor.”

  “Such as it is,” I said, without thinking. He raised an eyebrow. I realized my slip and squirmed. “I mean, I feel really bad about your hand. But I don’t feel bad that you can’t drive today.” I gave him a brief, tight-lipped smiled and trained my eyes back on the road.

  I’d lost my “honor” in the Crawford’s pool house. Actually, I hadn’t lost it. It had been forcibly stripped away from me against my will. Caleb had taken something much bigger away from me, too.

  My self-respect.

  Because as much as I hated Caleb, I hated myself more for what had happened. How gullible I’d been. How naive. How could I have been so stupid? Would I ever be able to forgive myself? It wasn’t my fault —none of it was—and I knew that, objectively. But these inescapable feelings clung to me like tar. Would I ever be able to wash them away?

  “Lana? You okay?”

  “This car’s a dream. I should have driven the whole time,” I said.

  “With you driving, at least I get to look at something prettier than the ass-end of a semi truck.”

  He grinned rakishly at me. Heat crept up my chest and face. I gritted my teeth, gripped the steering wheel tighter, and lowered my foot on the gas. There was an ancient pickup ahead of me in the fast lane. I calmly passed him and slid in behind a fast red Corvette. A few drops of rain splashed the windshield. I fiddled with the wiper controls until I got them onto the lowest setting.

  The Corvette slowed and swerved out of the lane, and I spotted a soggy mattress in the middle of the road just in time. I was busy trying to avoid it when Alexander’s phone rang.

  “Hi, John, great to hear from you,” he said brightly, as if he wasn’t brutally hungover. “How’s the apartment?” He paused, listening. “Least I could do, Sir. Sure, hold on. I’ll put you on speaker.” He tapped the speaker button. “Okay, she can hear you now.”

  I veered back into the fast lane and shook my head. “Not now,” I muttered.

  “Lana? You there?” My dad sounded excited to talk to me.

  “Yep! Hi, Dad!”

  “I tried your phone but it’s going straight to voicemail.” I’d forgotten to charge it the night before. And I realized I’d left the phone charger back in the hotel. “How was New Orleans?” How did he know where we’d been? I glared at Alexander. He held his hands up as if to say it wasn’t him.

  “How’d you know?” I asked.

  “One of you called me last night from a cab, probably by accident. I heard the driver mention the French Quarter.” There was a long pause. “You guys taking the long route?”

  Alexander cleared his throat. “John, don’t worry. We’re making great time, and Lana’s feeling healthy, so I thought we’d take a day to rest.”

  There was nothing relaxing about New Orleans. I stifled a laugh.

  My dad chuckled. “Sounds good to me. I knew you’d take good care of her.” My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Lana, he’s taking good care of you, right?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Yes, Dad.” I cleared my throat. I couldn’t bring myself to look over at Alexander. “What about you?”

  “Ticker’s still ticking. I’ll be even better when I see you.”

  “She’ll be back as soon as it’s safe, John,” Alexander said.

  My dad cleared his throat noisily. “Honey, I got a call from your friend Maya. She wanted me to tell you she ran into someone named Caleb. Isn’t that the boy you took to prom night? Anyway, she said he was asking about you. Told her he needed to talk to you.” My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. I could feel Alexander’s anger rising next to me.

  My dad had never been able to remember Caleb’s name.

  “What did he want?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “She didn’t tell me, but you should call her. You need to keep your phone charged, honey.”

  “Yes, she does,” Alexander said.

  When I finally managed to get off the phone, the silence in the car was ear-splitting. I could almost hear my heart thumping under my ribs.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Are you going to call Maya?”

  “I have nothing to say to her—or Caleb.” Caleb just wanted to beg my forgiveness and stop me from going to the police. Or he needed me to keep quiet so Maya wouldn’t find out and get mad at Evan.

  But it was too late. I was ready to report what he’d done as soon as I was back in Sonoma.

  Alexander reached into the backseat and started pawing through my backpack. A few seconds later he pulled out my dead phone and plugged it into the charger.

  “You have to keep this thing charged. What if I need to call you?”

  “Pretty sure you know where to find me.” My phone lit up and started vibrating over and over as old text messages came in. I counted ten before I finally grabbed it out of his hand.

  I grimaced when I saw some of the texts from Maya.

  I’m with Evan and Caleb is here. He’s all upset. He’s begging me to get you to call him. He says there’s something you need you to know and he won’t tell me. Will only tell you on phone. Call me!!!!

  “Don’t text and drive,” he said, snatching the phone out of my hands. He read her texts. “Hm, sounds like old Caleb has realized the error of his ways. Should we call her and find out?”

  “We? No! I’ll call her later.” I could barely control my fury. He reluctantly nodded and set my phone in the center console.

  Why was Maya helping him? She knew he’d slept with Cressida. She didn’t know the full story, but it still felt like a betrayal.

  Chapter 11

  Lacus Gaudii ~ Lake of Joy

&nbs
p; The rain had just started pattering on the roof when he said, “You kind of got weird when I was joking before. About your honor.”

  Tears pressed against my eyelids. My brain buzzed with exhaustion. My emotions had become blobs of paint smeared on a palette. The edges between anger and hope and despair and happiness had blurred.

  Red and white lights flashed ahead. “Tell me.” There was an icy cold edge to his words. He knew something bad happened.

  Part of me feared for Caleb’s life if I told him. Caleb made his bed. And left you in it.

  Ahead of us, a dozen fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars blocked the two left lanes.

  “This one looks bad,” I said.

  “Just tell me.”

  The whirling red disco lights of death bathed his face in a red glow. The raindrops looked like blood spattered across the windshield. I took a shaky breath. I didn’t have the energy to hold the words back anymore.

  So I let them go.

  “I told you about what happened this spring, at Cressida’s party after the spring formal.”

  “Your bone-headed boyfriend boned your bony stepsister.”

  “Well, yes, but that was actually not the worst thing that happened to me that night.” My throat filled with sand. He watched me quietly, a heavy tenderness in his eyes. I swallowed hard and continued. “Before that happened, Caleb and I were in a guest room together. I think he was trying to call us a cab or something. We’d been drinking, obviously. The last thing I remember is laying down on the bed kissing him. Fully clothed.”

  “You blacked out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How much did you drink?”

  “I don’t know . . . enough.”

  “You just passed out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Go on.” He watched me with a deadly serious look on his face.

  I stared straight ahead as my heart raced. I was about to tell him my secret. I’d only known him a week. But I needed him to know. I winced and choked the steering wheel until my knuckles were white.

  “When I woke up, I was . . . no longer fully clothed. It was pretty obvious what had happened. What he’d done.” The blood . . . the pain. Everything had hurt, and my mouth had been flooded with a strange metallic taste. I shivered and shook my head to clear the images.