The Seeker

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “It’s just a mouth.”

  He angled his head and licked across her lower lip. “It’s a delicious mouth.” He bit her bottom lip softly, then drew back until she leaned forward.

  Their lips met with no haste. Rhys eased into her kiss, tasting a hint of orange and vanilla as he drew the moment out.

  Reshon.

  His heart sang it, but he forced himself to be cautious, building Meera to a simmer until her arms went around his neck and her fingers played with the hair at his nape. She slid her hand into the back of his shirt, stroking soft fingers along his spine and tracing the raised talesm inked across his shoulders. He was drunk on her touch.

  He scooted forward, easing his hands along her hips until he cupped her backside in his palms. She was round and soft and he loved it. Her bottom filled his hands, and a sigh came from her throat when he squeezed and pulled her closer. Her legs parted and she pressed herself against him.

  Rhys groaned at the sweet ache. He could smell a hint of sweat on her skin. He released her mouth and kissed down her neck, tasting the salt and sucking on the soft skin. He ran his teeth along her collarbone, sliding his tongue into the soft dip at the base of her neck.

  She was a feast. Teasing his neck and shoulders. Playing her fingers in his hair. Her thighs pressed against his hips.

  The kiss turned from luxurious to heated. He could feel her pulse, rapid beneath her skin. Her fingers gripped his hair as something inside Meera unfurled. He could sense her magic reaching out to touch his.

  He slid his fingers along the inside of her thigh. “Let me touch you.”

  She drew back, desire and caution battling in her eyes.

  “Okay,” he said, “not yet.”

  “I didn’t say no.”

  Rhys smiled. “Yes, you did.”

  Meera frowned. “It’s not… I want you.”

  “And I want you.” He captured her mouth again, teasing her tongue until she softened under his hands, but he didn’t press for more.

  Patience.

  “You don’t trust me enough. Not yet,” he whispered in her ear before he drew back. “We have time. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Yes, you are,” she whispered back. “You’re going into the Atchafalaya Basin tomorrow. Roch got the boat this afternoon. But I am going with you.” Her eyes sparkled. “Are you as excited as I am?”

  “To find a source of lost Irina martial magic? Yes.”

  “And record a nearly extinct language.”

  Rhys smiled. “Malachi was right. You are such a geek.”

  “I still don’t understand how a word originally used for eighteenth-century German circus performers came to be used for learning enthusiasts.”

  Heaven above, he adored her.

  Rhys walked Meera back to her room, kissing her good night before he turned and saw Roch trying to disappear into a wall.

  He cleared his throat. “My room is past hers, so…”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.” Roch nodded. “So you two…”

  “Don’t have any interest in discussing it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Both men stood in the narrow hallway, nodding silently.

  “Did you call Maarut?” Rhys asked. “About the Grigori?”

  “Yes. He’s going to check with his contacts about any unexplained disappearances, and he’ll also get in formal contact with the New Orleans house.”

  “Good.”

  “Is Meera going to share what kind of magic she used on them?”

  “That’s up to her.”

  “She’s like a damn Grigori magnet, isn’t she? All that power. She keeps a tight rein on it, but when she lets it shine out…”

  “Yes, I’m sure they’re drawn to her.” Heaven above, everyone was drawn to her. Humans, Irin, Grigori. Meera could probably have songbirds circling her like a cartoon princess if she wanted them.

  “She spends a lot of time at the haven,” Roch said.

  “And?”

  His expression was solemn. “They’re drawn to her. You telling me they haven’t been drawn to her this whole time? Why haven’t they come to the haven?”

  “The wards are powerful.”

  “So powerful they’re not even attracted to the borders?” He shrugged. “Maybe. And maybe something else was keeping them away.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.” Roch tapped his fingers against his leg. “It’s worth thinking on. But what she did in the forest tonight… I’ve never seen anything like that. Have you?”

  Rhys shook his head.

  “That’s why her parents let her live in New Orleans by herself, isn’t it? Because they knew about… whatever that was.”

  “You’d have to ask them.”

  “Right,” Roch said. “But you knew.”

  Rhys took a breath. “Whatever Meera has shared with me, she’s done for her own reasons or out of necessity. I would not consider it an insult that she is cautious sharing things with you. She has cause to be private.”

  “True.” Roch glanced at Meera’s door. “I care about her.”

  “As do I.”

  “Yeah, I know you do.”

  Rhys truly hated feeling transparent. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “What time tomorrow?”

  “Early. I’m starting to feel like this is a wild-goose chase. I don’t want to be stuck in that bayou any longer than necessary if something’s coming for the haven. I’d like to be out of Lafayette by six in the morning.”

  “I’ll set my alarm.” He started back to his room.

  “More are coming.” Roch said. “That was the feeling I got from the Grigori today.”

  Rhys turned back to Roch. “I think Bozidar is getting reckless. Or brave. Maybe he knows about Meera and maybe he doesn’t. But things are quiet in New Orleans—all that rich tourist traffic and hardly any Grigori. He probably sees an opportunity.”

  “That’s what I told Maarut.”

  “Which makes finding the Wolf all the more important, don’t you think?”

  “Leave it to me, Englishman,” Roch said. “I’ll get you through the swamp. If you’re lucky, you might even come out with all your fingers and toes.”

  He walked through the damp field, the breeze rustling the cane in the moonlight. The rough ground made him stumble, and the smell of sugar filled the air. He heard someone in the distance, walking behind him, but when he turned and walked back, they had moved farther away.

  Always at a distance. Always behind. He turned in every direction, but none led him toward the distant follower.

  “Matsah mashul.”

  The whisper came from beyond the fields. It drifted in the wind, and he spun in full circle, hoping to find the source.

  Matsah mashul.

  “Find the path.”

  He searched for a path, but there was none. In the distance he heard the splash of a fountain, a cooing dove, and a child’s laughter echoing off stone.

  “Matsah mashul, reshon.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Meera woke early the next morning with a sense of lightness she hadn’t felt since she’d left her cozy home in New Orleans. She felt free. It didn’t make any sense. She was embroiled in a critical search for an Irina elder. She was facing a grueling journey into the Atchafalaya wilderness. She’d just witnessed the deaths of three Grigori. And she had no idea how to feel about the scribe who was sneaking into her dreams.

  I am your reshon.

  The words should have felt binding, but they didn’t.

  She rose and showered, relishing the warm clear water she knew would be her last for days. She washed her thick hair and pressed it dry before she braided it carefully and coiled it around her head. Then she packed her linen trousers and tunics, knowing that her favorite dresses wouldn’t be practical for traveling in the swamps. She might be a woman who enjoyed urban comforts, but she knew how to travel in the wild.

  By the time she’d straightened her room and made it dow
n to the truck, Roch was already there, waiting for her with the sweet black coffee she loved.

  “Have you seen Rhys yet?”

  Roch shook his head.

  “Hmm.” Meera walked back up the stairs and toward Rhys’s motel room. She knocked and heard a crashing sound from inside. “Rhys?”

  “I’m fine.” He sounded very cross. “Fine. Just… Damn trousers.”

  Meera smiled. “Have you had your tea?”

  “Don’t—” He pulled open the door, his shirt half unbuttoned. “Don’t yell through the door. I’m almost ready.”

  “You don’t look like you slept well.” She walked into the room to see neat piles of maps and notebooks next to a backpack and a duffel bag. The only thing in disorder was the bedsheets.

  “I didn’t,” he growled. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  Did you dream too?

  She bit her lip and walked to the plastic coffeepot. “They don’t have any tea.”

  “Yes, I discovered that at three a.m.”

  “Why don’t I go to the diner next door and see if they have any while you finish getting ready?”

  He grabbed her arm, pulled her to his chest, and brought his mouth down on hers in a hard and thorough kiss. He tasted like mint toothpaste and irritation.

  “Hmm.” Rhys buried his face in the curve of her neck and breathed deeply. “You’re not a princess, you’re a goddess,” he said, his voice rough.

  “A goddess for fetching tea?” She gently pulled back and placed a soft kiss on his lips before she headed for the door. “I hesitate to imagine the accolades when I make you breakfast someday.”

  They headed south from Lafayette, crossing into smaller towns around New Iberia, and then drove to the small camp where Roch had secured a boat from a contact who didn’t ask many questions. They would use the pontoon boat as a base as they explored Bayou Chene and the area where Rhys was certain the Wolf had been hiding. Smaller kayaks would take them through the narrower channels of the swamp, but Meera was fairly sure the hip-high waders Roch threw onto the back of the truck were also going to come in handy.

  They parked the truck off the road, securing most of Rhys and Meera’s electronics in a waterproof toolbox—the exception being their basic recording equipment—and loaded their camping gear onto the pontoon. Then Roch hopped in the back, fired up the outboard engines, and they were on the water.

  Meera sat next to Rhys as he nursed his second large cup of tea. She’d gotten him two just to be safe.

  “Have you been on the bayous before?” she asked.

  “No. Only seen pictures.” He squinted into the morning light shining off the water. “They’re primeval. We’re only a few minutes from paved roads, but it feels very isolated.”

  “It is. We’ll see a few fishermen, but this isn’t a highly populated part of the swamp. The one village that used to exist around here was abandoned about seventy years ago.”

  “Why?”

  “The water changed. Young people moved away.” Meera spied the ruins of an old wooden home on cedar stilts crumbling on the edge of the water. “It’s a hard life out here. The ecosystem is fragile. Rising sea levels will not be kind.”

  “But people still live here.”

  “A few.” She put on her sunglasses as the boat changed direction and the sun grew brighter. “Not many.”

  “At first it seemed preposterous that a thousand-year-old singer could hide in the middle of a reasonably populated area and disappear until she became the equivalent of an urban legend. But once you come out here, it’s not hard to imagine.”

  “No, you can get lost quite easily if you don’t know your way around.” She nodded at Roch. “I’d never come here without a guide.”

  “Please don’t.”

  Meera’s mood hadn’t sunk, even when presented with a cranky British scribe who was apparently the mate heaven had chosen for her. She examined him in the morning light. His hair was thick and still damp from his shower. His skin was alarmingly pale. Was it genetic, or did he spend far too much time at a desk? She needed to make sure he didn’t spend all his time inside. If they had children, she hoped—

  Moving that quickly, are we, Meera?

  Her mother would be delighted at her train of thought, but despite her continued reservations, Meera couldn’t help but admire him. Rhys was a handsome man. He had a tall, lanky frame padded with lean muscle. His eyes were sharp and deep set, with a strong jaw that would grow a generous beard if he didn’t keep his face shaved. She could see the dense black stubble already growing.

  Meera reached across and brushed her thumb across his cheek. “Have you ever grown it?”

  “Not for centuries. It’s quite thick, and I always live in warm places. Do you like beards?”

  “On some men.”

  “On me?”

  She smiled. “I’d have to see it.”

  “Hmm.” He sipped his tea, then offered it to her.

  “No, thank you.”

  “You seem better today than you have been.”

  “I am.” She frowned a little. “I don’t deal well with uncertainty. I grew up with too much order to be comfortable with it. I choose disorder, but only planned disorder.”

  “Planned disorder?”

  “Yes. I don’t want my garden to fall in rows, but I do want to be the one who plants it. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. And life has been everything but certain since I showed up, hasn’t it?”

  “Putting it mildly.” She leaned into his shoulder. “But now…”

  He put his arm around her. “Now we know.”

  “Now we know what we are to each other. What we do from here is our choice.”

  Rhys’s arm felt steady and secure. Familiar and still thrilling.

  “Exactly,” he said. “We focus on the mission. Anything that happens between us from here is up to us. And when the mission here is done, then who knows?”

  “Won’t you need to go back to Istanbul?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been their errand boy for several years now. If I asked Malachi for any kind of leave, he’d agree.”

  She nodded. “Then we can take our time.”

  “There’s no rush.” He stroked long, lazy fingers up and down her arm. “We’ll take all the time we need.”

  “You’re very confident that I’m going to choose to be with you, aren’t you?”

  “I can be quite charming to people who aren’t idiots.”

  “Your generous nature continues to amaze me, Rhys of Glast.”

  They moved slowly from large channels to smaller tributaries, Roch consulting the map that Rhys had brought with the listening stations marked, but they still got turned around more than once. Compasses were brought out once phone signals were lost. Meera tried to keep track of where they were, but every channel looked exactly the same to her.

  Thousands of acres of flooded forest, streams, and marshes made up the terrain, and dense mounds of palmetto were the only indication of higher ground. Small birds perched like lazy sentinels in the bald cypress groves, egrets and herons hunted along the shores, and more than once Meera spotted eagles hunting overhead.

  Alligators were their constant neighbors, lining the waterways and sliding in and out of the water as they passed. Meera watched for other residents of the bayou—beavers, otters, nutria, and even bear—but they hid from the sound of the motors.

  “The first people who lived here,” Rhys asked over the sound of the engine, “what kind of homes did they build?”

  “Round houses from wood and mud, mostly.”

  “On stilts like the Cajun houses?”

  “Not usually. They built on mounds.”

  Roch revved the engine.

  “What?”

  “Mounds. They were built up over years and years. Most used discarded shell as foundation. Eventually silt from the water deposited on them, creating mounds.” Meera pointed to a rise of palmetto in the distance. “See that plant? It doesn’t grow in the wate
r. It needs solid land. So if you see stands of palmetto, you know that area is solid.”

  “That’s where we’ll camp once we leave the boat,” Roch yelled. “Find high ground.”

  “The leaves also make good roofing material,” Meera said. “Keep an eye out for palmetto. If you follow them, you won’t sink. Probably.”

  “Probably?”

  Meera shrugged. She didn’t take anything for granted in the bayou. You could be walking on what you thought was solid ground only to have it give out beneath you.

  “Good,” Rhys said. “Excellent. And there are hurricanes here as well, yes?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She smiled. “That’s not for another few months.”

  He grumbled something under his breath.

  “I’d make a joke,” Meera said, “but they’re not really a joking matter. The city has suffered too much, and the storms are only getting worse.”

  “Indeed.”

  Meera walked across the deck toward Roch. “How much farther are we going today?”

  He gave her a lazy shrug. “Depends on how far you want to paddle.”

  Meera glanced at Rhys, who was slapping at a large bug on his arm. “I’m going to say as little as possible.”

  “Then we’ll cut over and around a bit farther down,” Roch said. “Maybe sleep on the boat tonight. Take the kayaks out in the morning.”

  She gave him a thumbs-up before she went back to Rhys. “Roch says we’ll camp on the boat tonight.”

  “Good,” Rhys said. “You can share my tent.”

  She knew he was teasing her for a reaction. But the offer was too tempting. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

  His teasing smile disappeared and a new and far more intense expression came to his eyes. “Not backing away anymore, princess?”

  “Does it scare you?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Is the heat bothering you?” Meera had dressed in a thin shirt and a loose pair of pants to sleep, but lying next to Rhys, her temperature was soaring from far more than the muggy air. Was it the knowledge that he was different than others, or just the potent attraction between them?

  Rhys rolled to his side, propping his head on his hand. “I can’t say I’m accustomed to it. It’s hotter than Istanbul. But I will say that I’ve adapted. Most of my assignments in the past hundred years have been in hot places. And it’s not the hottest time of year yet. At least there’s that.”