Heart of Stone

by Debra Mullins

  “And how does she think she can do that? From what Adrian has told us, the Stone Singer is a key player in this fight.”

  “She doesn’t want to be. I had to provide incentive.”

  His father narrowed his eyes. “What kind of incentive?”

  “Money. And the promise we’d help her disappear after her part is over.”

  His father stayed silent for a long moment, then got up. “I’m getting another cup. You want one?”

  “Not before I swim. Dad—”

  “You know how your mother and I feel about monetary compensation for using your powers.” His father poured himself another cup of coffee and reached for the sugar. “We’ve always been against it. We believe these gifts were created to help people, not to get rich. You may recall how angry we were at your brother for using his abilities to work as a bounty hunter in Vegas.”

  “Well, he had separated himself from us. He had no other marketable skills and didn’t want to touch his trust fund. But, Dad, Faith is desperate. She wants nothing to do with the Mendukati. The offer I made her gives her the resources to disappear. And that’s what she wants more than anything.”

  His father added cream and stirred his coffee. “I can’t argue with her desire to avoid war, but like I said, it may be a little naïve of her to think she can avoid it, especially if she’s the only Stone Singer alive, as we’ve been told. Then again, what if this is all an act? What if it’s a ploy by the Mendukati to get their hands on our stone?”

  “I’d know,” Darius said. “She wouldn’t be able to hide that from me.”

  “Which is the only reason she’s here. Read the file, son. Then tell me what you think.”

  Darius flipped open the pages of the report. Much of it was stuff he already knew about Faith. Born in New Mexico, father died when she was five, mother when she was nine. Raised in foster care. Married just under five years ago to Michael Wakete, son of Ben. Widowed three years ago.

  His dad and Alishka came to stand beside Darius’s chair, his dad sipping his coffee as he regarded the file over his son’s shoulder. “Looks like she didn’t get involved with the Mendukati until she got married, so it was a short time. Go to the last page. That’s where the interesting stuff is.”

  Darius skipped to the last page as instructed and found himself looking at a coroner’s report for Michael Wakete. “Twenty-eight years old, and his heart just stopped?”

  “He died up there on that cliff with no one but Faith around. Even if we were talking about normal humans, it would seem suspicious. Atlanteans? We don’t know exactly what she can do.”

  Darius closed the file and looked up at his father. “You think she killed him? Is that what you’re saying?”

  His dad shrugged. “I’m saying I don’t know what happened. But you should be careful.”

  Darius got up and grabbed his cane. “Thanks for the warning, but like I said, Faith doesn’t mean us any harm, at least none that I can sense.”

  “Still, be on your guard.”

  Darius scowled. “There’s one thing you’re forgetting in your little conspiracy theory: Atlantean powers don’t work on other Atlanteans. Gray told us that.”

  “Yours does. So does your mother’s.”

  “We’re exceptions. We’ve always known that. There’s a reason Tessa doesn’t see anything about either of us, why Rafe couldn’t locate us if we were lost. Both Mom and I have powers that stem from empathic abilities, and those work on everyone.”

  “I’m only saying be careful. You’re our best defense against betrayal.” His father sipped at his coffee, appearing unruffled by his son’s reaction, but Darius could feel the concern he kept deep inside.

  “I don’t think Faith will betray us.” Darius headed for the patio doors. “I’ll be in the pool, just in case anyone else wants to warn me about our houseguest.”

  His father said nothing, but he didn’t have to. Concern followed Darius outside and lingered long after he’d left his dad standing in the kitchen.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed in Cara’s borrowed jeans and shirt, Faith made her way downstairs. She wandered into the kitchen, hoping for coffee, and found Lupe sitting at the informal kitchen table, writing a grocery list.

  “Good morning,” Faith said.

  Lupe looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Miss Karaluros. Can I get you something for breakfast?”

  “Coffee, if you have it,” Faith said. “And please, call me Faith.”

  “Coffee is made early around here, Miss Faith.” Lupe indicated a coffee machine on the counter. Beside it stood a stack of disposable cups with lids, a sugar bowl, and creamer. “Help yourself. There are muffins there, too, and cereal, or I can make you some eggs.”

  “Coffee and a muffin sound great. I didn’t think anyone else would be up this early.”

  “Mr. Montana just left for his office, and Mr. Darius is always up with the sun.” She laughed. “That one gets grumpy without his morning coffee.”

  Faith paused in reaching for a cup. “Darius is up?”

  “Oh, yes, always this early. He’s in the pool.”

  Faith poured her coffee and added sugar and creamer. Putting a lid on the cardboard cup, she used a napkin to grab a blueberry muffin out of the basket on the counter. Despite her efforts to resist, she found her gaze drifting toward the windows overlooking the pool.

  “You can eat on the patio if you want,” Lupe said. “It’s a beautiful morning.”

  “Thank you,” Faith replied, and found herself sliding open the glass door leading outside.

  The brilliant Arizona sun shone in a cloudless blue sky, revealing the stunning view of flat-topped red rock mesas and craggy buttes in the distance, which had been hidden by darkness the previous night. The formations rose like monoliths from the lush green sea of juniper, oak, and pine trees that carpeted the landscape. No matter which direction she turned, the panorama took her breath away.

  A splash caught her attention and she turned her gaze to the large, natural rock pool in front of her and the man swimming laps in the clear depths. He sliced through the glittering water like an arrow, his wake sending ripples across the pool. Unable to tear her eyes away, she managed to sit down at a wrought-iron table in the shade of an umbrella before her knees gave out.

  Difficult to believe the guy speeding through the water was the same man who’d required a wheelchair the night before. She looked around and saw no evidence of the chair, but his cane rested against a nearby table. A dark blue towel had been tossed over a patio chair, and a pair of men’s flip-flops lay kicked aside on the ground nearby.

  He completed his lap and pushed off the far side of the pool, streaking toward her, tanned, muscular arms propelling him through the water toward the shallow end where she sat. He came to a stop and stood, water swirling around his waist. He shoved his long wet hair back from his face with both hands.

  She’d known he had a powerful build, but the muscles rippling beneath the sun-kissed skin of his naked shoulders and chest sent a little tingle through places inside her that hadn’t tingled in years. He strode toward the steps, a half-nude personification of Neptune with his dripping long hair and blue eyes that matched the sky above him. He climbed the stairs, slowly, deliberately, grasping the metal rail with one strong hand. Water whooshed over him, running down that hard body to puddle on the patio. He picked up the towel and rubbed it over his face.

  Faith took the opportunity to check out the rest of him, her gaze hovering over the no-nonsense navy blue swimming trunks, clearly designed for aerodynamics and not fashion. The close cut of the bathing suit left little to the imagination, and she swallowed hard as she realized her estimations of his physique in the dream seemed to be pretty close to reality.

  And her estimations had been generous.

  She darted her gaze lower, touching briefly on the scars on his one knee. Clearly the injury had been traumatic. The crisscrossed white lines from surgeries stuck out l
ike chalk marks in his dark tan, bisecting a thick starburst of a scar that could only have come from a bullet.

  He slung the towel around his neck. “Do they bother you? The scars,” he clarified when she didn’t answer. “I usually keep them covered up, but I wasn’t expecting company out here this morning.”

  “No, they don’t bother me.”

  “You sure?” He turned his back and braced himself on the sturdy iron table as he slid his feet into his flip-flops. Two more puckered bullet scars marred his otherwise smooth back, one near his hip and one closer to the base of his spine. More white scars from surgeries crisscrossed the smooth, rippling muscles of his lower back.

  What fortitude it must have taken to recover from such crippling injuries. What strength of character. That he had suffered and come out on the winning side only made him more attractive in her eyes.

  She lifted her gaze to his face as he turned around. “I’m sure. You seem better.”

  “Compared to yesterday? Oh, yeah. Sorry to disappear like that, but I needed privacy for my ritual.”

  “I understand.” She flashed another quick glance over his physique. “Seems to have worked.”

  “So far, so good.” He scrubbed the towel over his face and goatee. “I hope you slept well last night after all the excitement. I know I did.”

  “Um … yes. Yes, I did. Sleep well, that is.” She followed the play of his muscles on his chest and arms as they flexed and flowed, clenched and relaxed. “The room is very comfortable.”

  “Hope you had sweet dreams.”

  Heat surged into her face. “I don’t remember.”

  “I did. At least I think I did.” He flashed a grin at her. “It’s all kind of a blur, but I woke up very relaxed. De-stressed. They say some dreams do that.”

  “I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember.” She cleared her throat and looked down at her muffin.

  * * *

  Darius ducked his head and rubbed the towel against his hair, hiding his face. He knew Faith was lying.

  While the Seer ability to see truth or lies in another’s eyes did not work on other Atlanteans, his empathic powers did. And his senses told him she’d not only remembered her dreams of last night, but was aroused by them. Aroused by him, right here, right now.

  The knowledge kindled an answering fire in his own body.

  He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had felt genuine desire for him, not since before the accident, not since his fiancée, Becca. Sure, ever since Becca had broken off their engagement, there’d been women. Some. But they’d all been quick, serviceable flings to scratch a sexual itch. Most women interested in the long term took one look at his limp and scars and made a fast retreat. Even Becca. Her leaving had hurt the worst, pouring salt into some already grievous wounds. She’d loved him, he’d felt it, but she couldn’t face living life with a disabled husband. She wasn’t strong enough.

  Last night, Faith’s pity had ticked him off. The last thing he wanted was more sympathy, especially from an ex-Mendukati agent. The family had made Faith his responsibility for the length of her stay and, as a precaution against betrayal, had wrangled his promise not to tell her about his empathic abilities. Essentially, he was supposed to empathically spy on her, which stuck in his craw just a bit, though he accepted the necessity of it. It was the only way he’d been able to talk them into letting her come.

  Yes, they were fighting a war, but he would do whatever was necessary to protect his family.

  His father’s warning from this morning rang in his ears. He didn’t think Faith had cold-bloodedly killed her husband. Having tasted the crazy of a true Mendukati believer in Jain Criten, he knew Faith wasn’t like the rest. Something had happened on that ridge, all right, but he didn’t think it was premeditated murder. He simply did not get that vibe from her.

  Last night he had felt her heart soften when she’d seen him in the wheelchair. But pity had nothing to do with the way she eyed him now. Even after she saw his scars, he only felt admiration and attraction from her. As he relished the hum of desire, he wondered what she’d dreamed about. If it was the same thing he’d dreamed about.

  “Do you always forget your dreams?” Finger-combing his hair, he slung the towel around his neck again, pulled out the patio chair, and sat down at the table with her. He stretched out his bad leg, deliberately bumping her sandal-clad foot with his.

  She jumped, scooting her foot away with satisfying speed. “Sometimes.”

  “I dreamed, but I wasn’t sleeping. It was more of a meditative state.” He leaned back in the chair, folding his hands behind his head and watching how her gaze followed the movement. She didn’t seem to be aware of the heat in her eyes or the effect it was having on him. His bathing suit didn’t hide much, and any minute his reaction to her flattering perusal could become blatantly obvious. He pulled the towel from around his neck and dried his chest and shoulders before crumpling it strategically into his lap. “So, I was thinking we could get started this morning.”

  “Started?”

  “Yes, on the stone. Remember, the reason you’re here? We could use my workroom to examine it. No one will bother us there.”

  “Of course. The stone.” A blush swept her cheeks, and damned if the sight of that sweet pink didn’t turn him on even more.

  “Why don’t we plan on doing that after you’re done eating? I’ll get dressed while you finish your breakfast.”

  “All right.”

  He leaned closer, unable to resist her little intake of breath, the swell of emotion—part alarm, part thrill—that exploded from her like tart peaches bursting on his tongue. He made her nervous, but he excited her, too, and the heady mix left him drunk with wanting. What would she do if he flirted with her? Touched her hand? Kissed her? He looked at her mouth, wondered what she would taste like.

  “Faith, are you ready to go?”

  The swoosh and click of the sliding glass door closing flooded his system like ice water. Darius sat back as Cara crossed the patio, her sandals scraping softly against the tile. He’d been so focused on Faith he hadn’t felt Cara coming, but now her curiosity tugged at him like an insistent puppy on a leash.

  “Hey there, Darius.” Cara did a quick scan of his face and nodded. “You look better. And apparently in a good mood for a change.”

  “Yeah.” Darius frowned, putting lie to her observation. “What’s going on?”

  “Faith and I are headed out this morning to get her some things. You guys basically grabbed her with the clothes on her back and nothing else.” She glanced at her watch. “We’d better get going, Faith.”

  “Wow, I almost forgot. Let me get my purse.” Faith popped a piece of muffin into her mouth and washed it down with a swallow of coffee, not meeting Darius’s eyes.

  “You can’t go alone,” Darius said.

  “We’re not,” Cara assured him. “One of your dad’s security guys is coming with us.”

  “Good.”

  Faith got up from the chair and finally looked at Darius. “Maybe you can show me the stone when I get back?”

  “It’s been waiting for centuries,” he said with a shrug. “It can wait a couple more hours.”

  She smiled, but he could sense the uncertainty behind it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “Thanks.”

  The two women headed for the house, chatting along the way. Darius stood. Faith looked back at him, just a quick sideways peek as they went into the house, but the heat and curiosity in that glance seared him to his toes. As soon as she was out of sight, he tossed the towel on the chair, kicked off his flip-flops, and dove into the cool, bracing water.

  And hoped like hell it would wake him up from any more impossible fantasies about the Stone Singer.

  * * *

  Azotay strode into the Mendukati training camp refreshed from his hike over the nearby terrain. It was his habit to rise with Ekhia, the sun, and greet her with a meditation, followed
by vigorous exercise. The Warriors of his family had always sought focus in this manner since before great Atlantis had sunk beneath the waters, and he cherished this tradition that linked him to his ancestors.

  He needed focus now, for the Stone Singer had eluded the ones sent for her and taken shelter with, of all creatures, the Seers. The foolish one, Erok, had said she left willingly. But had she? What if the Seers held her captive even now? What if they wanted to use her powers on the stone they had stolen?

  He had to get her back. Their very world depended on her.

  He headed for his quarters. The many trees hid half the wooden cabins from view of the road, and the sun-bleached sign that creaked on ancient hooks over the gate to the compound read DIEZ REYES CAMP FOR THE GIFTED. Children dotted the landscape in every direction, Atlantean youth working with energy or sparring in a ring, all being trained in their gifts and in the doctrine of the Mendukati. His master, Jain Criten, would approve of the disciplined schedule.

  “My lord!”

  Azotay stopped as one of the instructors approached him, an Elder named Quillan. Like all Warriors, Quillan had dark brown eyes, but his curling hair held more gray than red these days. He taught tracking and hunting to the youngest boys, preparing them for the more advanced classes that would come later. He had lost his wife and daughter in a battle against Seers and had sworn blood vengeance—mendeku—until his dying breath.

  “Quillan,” he said by way of greeting, not slowing his pace. He’d learned the identities and histories of all the Elders before he’d left Santutegi to come to the United States.

  “My lord Azotay, we have word about the Stone Singer.”

  Azotay paused. “Go on.”

  “She has been taken to the house in Sedona, Arizona. The one where President Criten was attacked. We also believe this is where they are keeping the stone.”

  “I see. As I recall, this house is extremely well fortified.”

  “Yes, sir. And my sources report that security has been increased.” Quillan scowled. “Last time, the only way they were able to get in was to use one of the Seers’ people against them. And I would think they’ll probably be on the lookout for that gambit again.”