Rolling over to my feet, I’m up in time to see Jai go down. A third time. And this time he stays down.
Bending low, I rush the shifter, the element of surprise on my side, and slam my head right in his solar plexus.
The shock jars my neck, bursting sparks of red behind my eyes, and it feels as if my head is about to fall off.
Still, I have the satisfaction of feeling his body shudder a little. The breath whooshes out of him, blowing over my hair. He’s still standing, though.
Before I can react, push away the pain that sparks at my nerve endings, he flips me away with one hand.
The power of the muscle behind that action has me swallowing.
He grabs my neck, pressing his fingers around it, tight, so tight, that my air is instantly cut off.
The pain flickers, dies. Only to be replaced by blackness, which bleeds in at the edges of my sight. Blinding me. The blood rushes to my ears and I grab his hand, both my palms holding on, nails digging in as I try to pull his grip away. But nothing. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t budge. His grip intensifies, and the world around me tilts, begins to slip away.
And then I’m falling, hitting the bottom of the boat with a thump.
The world goes dark for a second.
Then the air rushes in. Gasping, I draw it in. It’s like drawing a cloth over broken glass. The shattered nerves of my throat tear at the oxygen, piercing it, and I gasp again, this time in pain. Not aware that my hands are around my throat, trying to soothe me. I sit up in time to see Jai slam his fist into the man. To the face.
To his side.
To his temple.
The force of that last blow takes the shifter off the ground, lifts him in the air and he slides cleanly into the water. Cutting the surface, going through. His weight drags him down.
It takes a lot out of Jai too.
Sensing his knees buckle, I fling my arm around his waist, gripping him. His hand comes around my shoulder.
Holding each other, we stand there for a second. The sound of the waves lapping at the sides of the boat, broken by my panting. My breath coming out in short gasps.
Jai grips my arm, his hand slipping over my sweaty skin. I wince as even that sends a sharp twinge of red shooting up my side. But I manage to nod to his unspoken question, indicating that I’m OK.
He limps to the helm, starts up the engine and then we’re drawing away from the sea of strewn debris.
Going to him I slip my arms around his waist, over the sword still strapped to his back. He grasps me to his side.
Neither of us says a word.
Neither of us looks back to the remains of the smoldering ship. At the bodies of the friends we leave behind.
37
Checking the direction we are traveling in on the compass at the helm, Jai sets course for Goa.
Brushing off all my efforts to check his wound, he insists on taking the helm. Too tired to argue further, I make him take off the scabbard.
I shrug off my already drying shirt, tying it around his waist above the wound, tight enough to make him wince. That should stem the flow of blood somewhat. I hope.
He leans down and slips the sword over his back, wincing as it brushes his wound. But he’s stubborn like that, I know. He’s not keeping that sword anywhere but next to his skin. Not after what’s just happened.
Slipping my arms around him again, I stand behind him. Leaning my head against his shoulder. I feel the vibration of the motor travel up through him. I don’t realize I’ve dozed off, the rolling of the boat having lulled me to half to sleep, until Jai stumbles, hitting the helm with a jarring thud that slices though the haze in my head.
The boat swerves, throwing me against the side, setting off the various aches and pains in me. Swearing aloud, I rush to the wheel, and gripping it, I straighten the little craft. By which time he’s already back on his feet.
"You’re hurt," I say.
"I’m fine!" He grimaces, only to sway again.
This time he grips my shoulder to steady himself. Just that gesture of weakness gives away how badly hurt he is. I’ve never seen Jai lean on anyone, not emotionally and certainly not physically.
And now he’s holding on to me, his eyes staring ahead; a muscle in his jaw twitching, as if clamping down on pain.
He’s hurting all right, he’s just too macho to admit it.
I dart a glance to his side. The shirt is stained a dull brown and even as I watch it gleams wet. Drops of red drip from the edge of the shirt.
I swear aloud, not bothering to conceal my anger.
He doesn’t even hear me. Just holds on, his eyes closed. The color has faded from his skin, leaving him pale. He shivers a little.
He’s in bad shape. And still not a word escapes him.
Should I be impressed at his ability to bear pain? Or just be angry at his stubbornness?
"It’s OK to show you’re hurting." My voice comes out hoarse, the words grating through the pain in my throat.
He turns his face and lets me have the full blast of those amber eyes. Even pain-filled, they are like shining flames. I let myself be pulled into their depths for a second, and am surprised when a slow burn flames to life in my lower belly. He’s hurt, bleeding, half-dead.
We’ve left a ship-load of wounded and dead friends behind.
Right now we don’t know where the hell we are.
And yet at some level I don’t care. For I’m here. With him. With the open sea in front of us.
I meet his burning glance with my own, and for a few seconds neither gives. Then one side of his lips quirks in a slight smile as if he’s heard my thoughts. As if he feels the same way.
Another tug on my lower belly has me moving in, closing the gap between us. I brush my lips over his.
"Hang in there, tough guy," I say.
Am about to step away, when his hand snakes out and hauls me to him. His other hand grips the wheel to keep the boat on course. And then he’s slanting his lips across mine, thrusting in his tongue, and taking, taking like he’s thirsty. Like he can’t get enough of me. He pours the pent-up longing of our years apart into the kiss.
Or perhaps when death is this close, you crave life.
By the time we break apart, we're both panting.
Heat bleeds out from my skin, swirling over us. Covering us. And even though we are out in the open, under the wide skies, in the middle of a choppy sea, it feels like we are enclosed in our own cocoon of intimacy. I know he can feel it too for he’s stopped shivering, and some of the color has come back into his face.
It’s as if he’s absorbed some of the energy off me. Drained me. My head spins and I clutch at the wheel.
"Feel better?" I ask, in a gruff voice.
At his nod, I turn back to the wheel.
He slides down to the seat behind us and stretches out. One hand still grasping my thigh, he closes his eyes.
38
Maya’s hair ruffles in the sea breeze. Long hair that curls and falls thick, halfway to her waist.
Vishal knows the strands won’t be soft to touch. Hers hadn’t been either. Why is it that everything always came down to Ruby?
When she’d been alive Vishal had been too busy being jealous of what Vik had with her. How she’d looked at Vik with adoration. More than anything Vishal had wanted to step in between them. To tell her that, he, Vishal was still there. To ask her to notice him just once. The possessiveness he still feels make him curl his fingers into fists.
Ruby’s gone now.
But her daughter is still here.
Her daughter, who’s going to help him realize his dreams.
And that’s all that matters. This feeling of getting what he’s spent his life striving for. A feeling as powerful as being in love. Or perhaps it’s the idea of being in love that intrigues him.
For it's power that turns him on. That's what he lusts after. Being able to control people is what he craves. Showing the world who he really is. Getting the citizens to acknowledge th
at he’s the rightful Mayor of Bombay, not Vik.
That it is Vishal who has the vision, the strength, and soon also the means of liaising with most of the Western world.
He’s finally being taken seriously. And not just by his own people, but by those around the world.
Why was it so important to be lauded on the world stage? When had that want crept in?
Perhaps it has something to do with growing up on the outside. First with Vik and his family.
Then Vik and Ruby.
And then when the tsunamis had risen, to sweep away not just Bombay but many of the bigger cities in the world, people everywhere had been united in grief. And for a few years after that the countries had worked together to help each other out. Which is when he’d realized that he could dream bigger.
More than just this city; more than just Indostan. He’d looked to the West then, known he wanted control over them too. He could be more powerful than he’d ever had an inkling of before. And once that thought had come into his head, there was no stopping him.
He’d wanted it fast. Not for him, the painful slow building of relations and negotiating his way into power. Not when he knew there was a more potent way to do this. A surefire way to once more make the eyes of the world focus on him and in one go get everything he wants.
All he’d had to do was find a way to use the sword. Ruby’s sword. Which had been passed on to Jai. Which belongs as much to this young woman looking at him, her amber eyes glistening in the sunlight.
Golden eyes like her father, laced with deep brown depths like her mother.
But he knows that her looks are an illusion. That’s where the resemblance to Ruby stops.
That’s where her humanity ends. She may have been born of Ruby and Vik, but kidnapped by the shifters, she is one of them. And yet perhaps she is more like Vik too, for she’s doing this for her people.
Now she sighs, the breath torn out of her by the wind, gone before the sound even reaches him. And yet when she speaks her voice reaches him. Clear, deep, husky, strangely persuasive too. He can understand why the shifters chose her as their alpha.
"You’re getting caught up again in your thoughts, uncle," she laughs, the sound shivering up his skin.
And he still doesn’t understand this strange pull she has over him. The one that makes him wary, makes him wish it was Jai standing here and not Maya.
And yet it’s that dangerous part of her, that unpredictable look in her eyes that convinces him it has to be her who does the deed. Only Maya can be spontaneous enough, foolhardy enough to actually touch the sword to the altar of that temple and—
"Are we doing this or what?" Her voice cuts into his thoughts and he nods. A quick jerk of his head.
"I don’t want Jai dead, understand?" he says, his voice sharp.
Noticing her smirk, he adds, "And no, it’s not because he’s my nephew."
"You mean he’s your back-up plan in case something happens to me. In case I didn’t deliver." She grins, her voice cocky, and he feels himself flush.
Is he that easy to read? Or perhaps she’s just more clever than he’d expected. More astute. He’d have to watch his words with her.
‘They got away, the lucky bastards." Maya curses aloud. "But we’re on their heels. We’ll be waiting for them when they hit shore. And this time we’ll make sure you get your sword."
He nods, not sure if he should be reassured or worried by the violence in her voice.
He’s seen enough of it in his own life. Fought enough battles, killed more people that he can possibly keep track of. Yet the shifters are different. The violence within them has a darkness to it, an edge that’s almost greedy. As if they thrive on violence. As if it feeds them. As if, if they stopped hunting, they’d cease to exist.
The shifters are closer to nature too in that sense. Things are black and white…and red in their world.
A simple view of the world, which he can’t quite grasp.
But he pushes that away too. All that matters is that when the next blood red moon rises, he will stake his claim.
39
Jai and Aria stagger off the beach, past the smattering of sunbathing tourists, and onto a side road. At least this hasn’t changed in the new world. Goa, the city state, not far from New Bombay, has over the last hundred years been attracting sun worshippers from around the world. And it still does today, but entry is restricted to an optimal number every day.
If the tsunami of 2014 had wiped away much of Bombay, it had spared a lot of Goa. Today much of Goa’s original rustic feel has been preserved. As hurt as Jai is now, the sense of being caught in the past, which pervades the soil of this city state not far from Bombay, creeps into his nostrils.
It’s a bloody miracle they’ve made it this far. Jai had his doubts about the little boat, whether it would be sturdy enough would get them to land. And he could only send up a prayer of thanks when, a day after they had set off, the lights of Goa had shown in the distance.
The last time he’d been here was on his eighteenth birthday.
Vik had taken Jai to visit his mother’s ancestral home, the one said to have belonged to Catherine of Braganza. And he wonders if perhaps it’s not a coincidence that they are here now. As if it’s a reminder that however far he runs he’ll never be able to escape his destiny.
Or the path the sword is taking him on. He touches the weapon, relaxing a little when his fingers slide over the familiar, smooth surface of the scabbard on his back.
When he’s with Aria it’s so easy to forget his past. Forget everything but this driving need to be with her. After all, she’s his soulmate.
And that brings him up short. When had he started thinking of her so?
It's the only way to describe the intensity of what he feels for her. It's also what his parents had had. A deep, unshakeable devotion to each other.
One Jai had never thought he’d feel himself. Perhaps that’s what had led him to turn his back on Aria the first time. The feeling that he’d been well and truly hooked, and deep inside he’d known and panicked.
And he had run.
And the moment she’d left, walked out of his home, he’d known he was wrong. So wrong.
That’s why he hasn’t forgiven himself for letting her go. And when that shifter had carried her away, a rage like nothing he’d experienced before had swept through him. He’d known then that if he’d let them take her away, he’d never see her again.
That had scared him. A lot.
He hadn’t come this far to lose her again.
Not like this.
The fear had churned his guts, lent an edge to his anger, the desperation enough to make him shove aside the pain from the deep slice to his side. Before he’d known it he’d rushed towards them and tackled that monster. In that one second he had risked everything. His life, hers.
Just thinking about it has him tensing again.
"What?" Aria asks. "What’s wrong?"
‘They almost took you," he snarls.
She’s silent for a second, then she grasps his arm. "But you stopped them," she says, unaware of what he’s just realized.
That he loves her. Only he doesn’t know what to do about that either.
"Let’s keep moving," he grinds out as a wave of agony tears through him. Jai sways. Sweat breaks out over his forehead and he swears aloud.
Throwing her arm around him Aria props him up.
"We have to find a place to stay, at least for the night. See to your wounds," she says, panting under his weight.
Her voice is tense as she focuses on guiding them ahead. Together they peer through the darkness at the lights flickering not far ahead.
For a few seconds the only sound is that of Jai’s labored breathing. Then they reach the lights.
It’s a hotel. Paint peels off its walls. And with old-fashioned shutters hanging off its windows, it looks like it’s on its last legs.
As Jai takes in the facade, a sudden wave of exhaustion sweeps over him.
And he grasps Aria’s arm tighter.
"Hey, you OK?" she exclaims.
"Yeah," he grimaces. "Been a long day."
He tries to make light of his wounds and fails, a grimace twisting his features.
"What do you think?" She points to the crumbling building. "This one is far enough from the beach, away from the main road too."
Even tired and aching from the earlier hit, the soldier in him snaps to attention. He checks out the perimeter of the B&B.
It’s hidden on three sides by thickly grown vegetation. The only way in is the dirt track they’ve taken off the main road. This far in, the city’s noise is hushed.
It’s not safe enough. But at least it feels almost abandoned, which works in its favor.
Another bout of tiredness washes over him and he realizes he doesn’t have a choice.
‘This will have to do," he nods.
Without waiting for an answer he starts walking up the small driveway, half-leaning on her, half-dragging her along.
She blows out a breath of frustration. "Go slow, macho man, or you’ll aggravate those wounds further. Besides, have you forgotten how we look?"
He casts an eye over her, taking in her sun burnt face, the indigo eyes indicating to him she’s both a little angry and aroused by the hand he has around her waist. Tangled hair flows down to her waist. And her clothes are torn. He frowns at the T-shirt, which has a gash in the front, enough for the tops of her breasts to flash as she walks. Leaning down, he tugs her palm up to it, indicating she should hold the gaping ends together.
"Yeah, now you’re covered," he says, his voice possessive. He knows he’s going to get her hackles up.
And yet he knows she’s pleased too; for those eyes of hers deepen even more, into shimmering violet pools. The ends of her lips tug up, though she refuses to give in to the smile.
"Wait, what about the money? We have no money for a hotel," she says.
Jai smiles confidently. "Watch and learn, baby," he says. "I’m the Mayor of Bombay’s son. And much as you hate my saying it, it’s what’s going to save us today."
Taken (Many Lives Book 2) Page 16
