The largest shark he’d ever seen was just ahead of him, its colossal body almost hiding Beka from sight. She was backed against a rock formation, knife held iron-steady in one hand while the other clamped desperately around a seeping gash in her leg. Blood oozed viscously into the water, like a watercolor brush tossed into a jar.
He could tell the second she spotted him. The clear seawater between them showed her eyes widening behind her mask, first in hope, then in terror as the shark’s snout swung ponderously in his direction.
Arming the spear gun, Marcus held up three fingers, and then pointed to the surface. Beka shook her head frantically, attracting the great white back in her direction. Its huge head moved back and forth between them, hesitating, and Marcus held up three fingers again, gesturing at her bleeding leg. Reluctantly, she nodded, and braced herself against the rock.
He aimed the spear gun at the shark, released the safety, and held up one finger, then two, then a third. As Beka launched herself toward the surface, swimming as rapidly as she could, Marcus moved even closer to the shark and fired the spear directly into its dark and malevolent eye. It gave a massive heave, thrashing around in a frenzied dance of teeth and fins and tail, spiraling down toward the bottom of the ocean. In the twilight depths, gray-black blood stained the water.
Once Marcus was sure the shark wasn’t coming after them, he eeled his way to the surface, the muscles in his thighs burning as he pushed himself to his limits. Beka clung to the side of the dinghy, taking great gasps of air, a look of almost comic relief lighting up her face as he broke through next to her. He tossed the spear gun carefully into the bottom of the boat, and then lifted her in after it. Adrenaline got him out of the water almost without effort, although once they were both in and safe, he could feel the aftereffects pulsing through his system. Battle had always been like that—the rush, followed by the backlash.
His heart threatened to burst through his rib cage as he gazed at Beka’s bleeding leg. Closer examination showed him that the gash was deep but clean, and the shark seemed to have missed anything vital. They’d been lucky. Very, very lucky.
“Well, that was an adventure,” Beka said in a shaky voice as he pulled out the first aid kit and started to bandage her leg, brushing aside her protest as he cut through the expensive wet suit to expose the wound. The suit was ruined anyway. “Oh, and by the way, thanks for saving my life.”
“No problem,” Marcus said, keeping his tone casual and his eyes focused on her injury, so she wouldn’t see the emotion he couldn’t quite keep off his face. “All part of the friendly service. But don’t be surprised if my father adds on an extra charge.”
“It’s a good thing we went to that barbeque last night,” she said with an unsteady laugh. “I’m not sure I’ll be doing a lot of dancing in the near future.”
Marcus tucked the end of the bandage securely into place and reached for the radio to call his da to turn the Serpent around and come get them. But first, he gave in to irresistible impulse and kissed Beka so hard their teeth clashed.
“Just so long as you save a dance for me,” he said. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
* * *
MARCUS INSISTED ON driving her home, even though she told him—repeatedly—that she was perfectly fine. The extensive first aid kit aboard the Wily Serpent had done a perfectly good job of taking care of the gash, which looked worse than it was, and she’d refused to go to a hospital to have it looked at. As a Baba Yaga, she healed considerably faster than most Humans, and once she was able to put some of Barbara’s supercharged herbal wound cream on it, it would vanish in no time.
Of course, Marcus’s father had griped about their mishap interrupting his fishing, and threatened to bill her for the loss. But since the nets were empty, it looked like the fish had gone elsewhere again anyway. Beka thought guiltily of her argument with Kesh and hoped it wasn’t her fault. Marcus Senior still looked tired and wan, and he was due for another chemo session later that week, so he didn’t give more than a token protest when Marcus suggested that they should take the ship back in to shore.
Back at the bus, Marcus stowed her gear while she went inside, barely limping at all.
“What the hell happened to you?” Chewie barked.
“Nothing. I just got a little nibbled on by a shark,” Beka said, sinking down on the futon and running her hands through his soft fur.
“Nibbled on by a shark doesn’t sound like nothing,” Chewie said. “In fact, it sounds like a lot of something. I don’t like it.”
“Well, to be honest, I didn’t like it much either,” Beka said. “Remind me not to repeat the experience.” She wondered if she should mention the gold chain she thought she saw the shark wearing—but she had to have imagined it in the heat of the moment.
Marcus came up the stairs into the bus, shaking his head. “You know, it sounds for all the world like the two of you are actually having a conversation. Too bad I don’t speak Dog.”
“I was just explaining to Chewie what a hero you are,” she said. “He saved my life,” she told Chewie. “Shot the shark with a spear gun so I could get away.”
“Aw, shucks, ma’am, it weren’t nothin’,” Marcus said with a smile, coming to sit down next to Beka.
Chewie made a gagging noise. “I don’t think I can take any more of this,” he said, giving Beka an affectionate swipe with his tongue before heaving himself up in a mass of dark fur and dust motes. “I’m going to go out and pee on something.” He padded over and opened the door with his teeth, leaving it to Beka to get up and shut it, grateful that Marcus couldn’t actually understand him.
“Talented dog,” Marcus commented.
“You have no idea,” Beka said. She sat back down next to Marcus and gazed into his hazel eyes for a moment without speaking. Every time she looked at them they were different. In the diffuse afternoon light streaming through the bus windows, they seemed almost green, with hints of brown and copper and amber, like a piece of polished agate washed up by the sea.
“Thank you again,” she said quietly. “You know, for saving me. You really are my hero.”
“I’m just glad I got there in time,” Marcus said. In that simple statement lurked the unspoken memory of all the times he hadn’t, the men he hadn’t been able to save. She could see the pain of it in those gorgeous eyes although he never said a word. “I’ve kind of gotten used to having you around.” He reached out and picked up one of her hands, holding on to it lightly.
Beka could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I was under the impression that you thought I was a flaky tree-hugging hippie chick.”
“You mean, like you think I’m a cranky, rigid, stick-up-his-butt former Marine?” He laughed. “It turns out, shockingly enough, that I actually like flaky tree-hugging hippie chicks.”
Beka could feel her heartbeat start to race, fluttering butterflies seeming to chase one another around her belly. “Really?” she said in a teasing tone. “All flaky tree-hugging hippie chicks?”
Marcus paused as if considering. “No. In fact, there is one in particular who has somehow gotten under my skin.” He leaned in closer, as if he was going to kiss her, but then pulled back, leaving her feeling bereft. The laughter slid off his face, replaced by a serious look.
“Can I ask you one question?”
She looked down at their joined hands, pondering all the questions he might ask that she wouldn’t be able to answer—at least not with the complete truth. Looking back up at him, she took a deep breath.
“Sure, what’s the question?”
Marcus scanned her face as if he could read the answer before he’d even formed the question. “Is there something going on between you and that guy Kesh?”
Beka almost giggled in relief. Yes, there had been a point when she thought that there might be some potential there . . . but that point was long past. If she was going to be honest with herself, she couldn’t imagine being with anyone other than Marcus. She didn’t for a
moment believe that there was any way that they would be able to make things work together, but he was all she thought of. Kesh didn’t even come into the equation.
“No,” she said decisively. “We’re just friends. Nothing more, in the past or in the future.”
“Good answer,” Marcus said, and then he did kiss her, leaning in to touch her lips with his, at first gently, and then with a firm and assertive pressure that urged her to return the kiss with interest. So she did, sliding forward into the protective circle of his arms, which tightened around her in response.
The heady scent of him filled her nostrils, that particular blend of salt and sea and musk that was his alone. Just the smell of him made the blood rush to her core; the feel of his strong arms, the sweet taste of his mouth made her whole body pulse with need and longing.
Marcus made a groaning noise deep in his throat and started to pull away.
“Don’t you dare,” she breathed in his ear. “If you stop kissing me, I’ll . . . I’ll bite you.”
“You can bite me anyway,” he suggested, nibbling on her neck and sending shivers of anticipation and sensation sliding down her spine. “But we should stop. You have a hurt leg.” He loosened his arms reluctantly.
Beka gazed into his eyes, so dark with desire they seemed to go on forever, capturing her soul in their depths. “My leg is fine,” she said, standing up to show him. “Look, no limp.”
“What are you doing?” Marcus asked in a husky voice, getting up too. He looked like he wanted to grab her and pull her back into his arms, but didn’t quite dare.
“I’m going to show you a magic trick,” she said, grinning.
“A what?”
She gestured him back and leaned down to tug on the futon, which glided out smoothly to reveal its other form.
“Voila,” Beka said. “A bed.”
“Oh, thank god,” Marcus said, scooping her up and laying her out on the bed, and then pulling his shirt off over his head in a quick motion before joining her there. “I want you so much I feel like I’m going to explode.”
“I hear that Marines are good with explosions,” Beka said, turning sideways so their bodies faced each other. She ran eager hands over his chest, marveling at the strength and breadth of him and the crisp hair that tickled her palms, then up his shoulders and down his strongly muscled arms. His lips found hers again, and everything dissolved into a delirious blur of touch and taste and blissfully erotic sensation; his fingers and tongue explored her, discovering secrets she never even knew she had.
Their clothes flew away as if enchanted, and the feel of his naked body on hers drove her almost mad with desire. As they joined together, she could feel her nails biting into his back, but that only made him move faster and deeper and wilder inside her, the floodwaters of passion rising up to drown them both in waves of ardor, intensifying and ebbing, swirling and racing, ever higher, ever stronger, until together they crested with a moaning, throbbing crescendo that made their two bodies into one, gloriously united in joyous celebration.
Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, panting and sweating and laughing. Beka rested her head against Marcus’s chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart, and had a sudden, appalling realization: Chewie had been right. Somehow, no matter how impractical, no matter how improbable, she had fallen in love with this man. And that meant that she had no choice—she had to tell him the truth. Even if it meant she lost him forever.
SEVENTEEN
MARCUS TRIED TO remember the last time he felt even remotely as good as this, and failed completely. Lying there with Beka in his arms, spent after a passionate bout of lovemaking he had never expected, the summer sun sliding in past slanted shades to bathe them both in buttery yellow warmth, was as close to nirvana as he ever expected to get.
His life up until now had mostly been about survival¸ nothing more. He’d survived his mother’s abandonment, survived his father’s harsh and brutal approach to parenting, survived the loss of his beloved younger brother—though that one only barely. Then he’d gone on to join the Marines and survived boot camp and twelve years in the harsh desert.
For the first time since he was a kid, he felt something almost like . . . hope. A shimmer of happiness, a glimpse of optimistic possibilities. Clearly, Beka was not the craziest one in the room. And yet, despite all that he had seen and learned in his years on this planet, he suddenly felt as though a curtain had opened and revealed a future he could never have hoped to achieve.
All because of Beka.
He looked down at her; this unexpected miracle. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder, that glorious blond sheaf of hair falling in a tumble of silken strands over both of their naked bodies. One tanned leg was thrown on top of his in comfortable abandon, and her arm was flung over his chest as if she lacked the energy to move it. It was a position he could get used to.
In fact, it was with some shock that he realized he could get used to the entire package: Beka, sex, curling up together . . . forever.
Forever was never a word he had considered before. Everything in his life had always been temporary. Living with his father until he was old enough to get away, staying with the Marines until he couldn’t stand the killing anymore, coming back to take care of his sick da until the old man died or got better enough to manage without him. But suddenly, he found himself thinking of the long term; settling down, finding something to do with the rest of his life that actually meant something to him, and maybe, just maybe, sharing that with someone.
He laughed a little, knowing that he was getting ahead of himself. Way ahead, where one completely inappropriate but bewitching hippie surfer girl was concerned. There was no way that things could work between them. They were so different, and he came with so much baggage. Why would a woman so full of light and life ever be interested in a man as dark and haunted as he was?
And yet, for a moment, he actually dared to hope. There was something so real and true about Beka, it made him feel as though he could find whatever was real and true in himself and bring it to the surface. He’d been accused of having trust issues—and no wonder if he did, between a mother who’d left when he was a kid, a father who had allowed his only brother to be killed, and a dozen years spent living in a war zone. But with Beka, he felt as though somehow he might find a way to learn how to trust. Now there was a crazy thought.
“What’s so funny?” Beka asked, a strange shadow coming over those glorious blue eyes as she tilted her head back to look at him. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”
Marcus smiled at her. “Just thinking. Mostly about how wonderful you are.”
She flushed, and he enjoyed watching the pink tide moving across her face and down her chest.
“I’m not wonderful,” she said. “Although that certainly was.”
He bent his head to kiss her. “Yes, it was. And yes, you are, Beka. I know I don’t always seem to appreciate your quirkier side, but I don’t want you to think that doesn’t mean I don’t like you just the way you are.”
For some reason he didn’t understand, her face grew even sadder, the shadows moving from her eyes to overtake those luscious lips, which no longer smiled in relaxed contentment.
“What?” he said in alarm, raising himself up on one elbow. “Beka, honey, I’m just trying to tell you how much you’ve come to mean to me. I know I’m not good at showing it, but I didn’t want you to think this was just some adrenaline-fueled roll in the sack. It meant something.” He smiled at her, tugging on one golden tress. “I swear, you’ve cast a spell on me. I’ve never felt like this before.”
Beka sighed, sitting up in bed and pulling the light blanket that had been thrown over the back of the futon up to cover most of the amazing body he’d just made love to. Twice.
“For the record,” she said, “I’d like to make it clear that I didn’t. Cast a spell on you, I mean.”
Marcus blinked, feeling like he’d missed something. “What are you talking about, Bek
a?”
“I have something to tell you,” she said, squaring her shoulders as if facing a firing squad. “But first I need you to know that it meant something to me too. That you mean something. And I definitely didn’t cast a spell on you; not at any time.”
He was starting to get a little irritated, and more than a little worried. “Beka, there is no such thing as spells—we both know that. What the hell are you talking about?”
“There’s something I’ve been keeping from you,” she said. “Something important. I didn’t tell you before because I knew you wouldn’t like it, and really, it wasn’t something you needed to know. But now everything has changed.” She bit her lip, already red and swollen from their lovemaking. “I hope in the end, you can still say that you like me just the way I am.”
“Beka,” Marcus said, “you’re scaring me. Please don’t tell me that you’re married. Or dying from an incurable disease. Or . . . a lesbian, or something.” He stared at her anxiously.
She giggled at that last one, humor for a moment washing away the somber expression that had come over her features. Then she sighed, her entire body drooping. “No, none of those. Definitely not a lesbian.” She stared straight at him, as if daring him to run. “I’m a witch.”
“What?” Marcus almost laughed, too, practically giddy with relief. “You mean you’re a Wiccan? Hell, Beka, I don’t care what kind of tree-hugging religion you follow.” Yes, he thought most of the New Age goddess worship stuff was kind of silly, but it wasn’t as though it bothered him. Hell, one of the guys in his unit was a Wiccan, and he’d been just as tough and dependable as everyone else, even if he wore a pentacle around his neck instead of a cross.
She shook her head. “Not Wiccan, Marcus. A witch. You know: flying broomstick, bubbling cauldron, turns people into toads.” She sighed again, which made her breasts do interesting things under the blanket, distracting him for a moment. “Let’s do this a different way. Have you ever heard of Baba Yaga?”
Wickedly Wonderful Page 17
