Beyond the Darkness (9 page)

He squeezed her hand. “No, she couldn’t have.” He quickly let go. “She probably just lost control. Many of them did.”

She breathed that in, feeling something in her chest loosen.

“She died when she was my age. It’s funny—well, not funny ha-ha—that when I was a kid, I thought I’d die at twenty-four. And I almost have, more than once.”

He was looking at the wad of paper he held on her knee. “You’ll live till you’re eighty.”

“How do you know?”

Now he met her gaze. “It’s my job to make it so.”

His job. She shivered at that, the straightforward way he’d said it, the fire in his eyes, kneeling in front of her like her knight-protector.

She turned her attention back to her legs, her heart taking a perilous dip. Once she was done, she took her clothes into the booth and got dressed. “Thanks for being patient,” she said when she walked out.

“Is that what I’m doing?”

He didn’t look the least bit annoyed. In fact, he was smiling just a little.

“Most guys would be pacing or complaining by now.”

His smile disappeared. “Is that a fact?”

She ran that through her head, realizing how it sounded. “Not that I’ve been in this kind of situation a lot. Only Eric, who was totally impatient when he was waiting for the bathroom we had to share when we were teenagers. The problem was, he spent as much time getting ready as I did.”

They walked back to the Tank, Cheveyo surveying their surroundings. It was late afternoon now, and the smell of BBQ wafted through the air.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“The way you were sniffing the air.”

Her nose was tilted up to catch the scent. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I am.” Her stomach gurgled just to make the point.

“The guy in the office said there was a good steak place down the road. We’ll hit that.”

They climbed on the bike and headed there. It was the first time she’d ridden with him that she hadn’t had to hold on for dear life. Now she could enjoy holding onto him, leaning into the turns, feeling the freedom of being out in the open. She liked seeing their shadow on the asphalt, two people riding together. Together. Soon they’d have dinner like two normal people. And always, always, he would be watching for danger.

A
s they returned to the Tank, Cheveyo could see Petra’s movements becoming stiffer. She was putting on a brave face, but he caught her wincing as she leaned against the kitchen counter. He latched the heavy duty locks he’d had installed on the door and stepped up beside her. Her hair smelled like cherry blossoms, and his fingers itched to unravel her long braid. He would resist the temptation.

Early evening light slanted into the dim space. They didn’t have much time, and he needed to recharge. After taking care of one thing.

“Strip down to your bra and panties,” he said. “And lie down on the bed.”

She spun around, her mouth open in surprise.

“I have a special rub, made by the Navajo, that’ll ease your bruises, cuts, and aching muscles.”

She closed her mouth for a moment, though her blue eyes were filled with puzzlement. “Okay.”

He was going to put his iron control to the test. He turned away so she could get undressed in private.

He’d glimpsed her in the shower earlier, through the gap in the curtain. If he’d been a lesser man, he would have shoved the curtain aside and taken her right there. She pushed his control to the fine edge, but he would master it.

He heard her pad upstairs to the loft, heard the
shush
of clothing fall away. His erection responded instantly, but he willed it down. He couldn’t let her see his arousal. He went to the console at the front and turned on the seventies rock music channel on the stereo. Bad Company’s “Ready for Love” flowed from the speakers.

“Okay,” she said, a slight quiver in her voice.

He regulated his breathing when he got to the top of the steps and saw her lying facedown on the bed. He could lower his heart rate, and he needed to do that now. Her arms were up by the pillows, her head to the side. She was long, her body pale and gilded by the waning sunlight. Her back was elegant, curving in at the waist and flaring out at her hips, lush and curvy, not twig thin like most women starved to be. Her sweet ass was covered by silky pink panties edged in lace. All it would take was a flick of his fingers to break the thin ribbon at the side.

What he needed to focus on were the bruises and scratches that marred her creamy skin. None brutal, but the rocks had taken their toll on her. She’d suffered abuse that day. Unacceptable. He would do his best to make sure she never had to suffer it again.

She pushed her hair to the side, and he saw an eye looking at him from the back of her neck. It was roughly the size of a quarter, blue with slashes in the iris. “What’s with the tattoo?”

“Zoe’s a tattoo artist, and she’d drawn this eye. Said she had a dream about it. We deemed it the Rogues’ symbol. She inked it on all of us. We decided the blue eye is for the program our parents were in; the O of the iris is for Offspring; and the R in the iris is for Rogues. Later we found out it’s a symbol for elite Callorian spies and pilots, and Pope’s father was a pilot. His DNA is in us, which is probably why Zoe dreamed about it.”

He ran his finger over it, tracing the lines. Goose bumps popped up on her back wherever he touched, and he pulled his hand away. He lit the sage stick and used the hawk feather to clear their bodies of negative energy.

“That stuff smells like pot,” she said, her voice muffled against the pillow. “Not that I’ve ever smoked it, but I was around it a couple of times.”

He snugged it out in the abalone shell. “We should never use drugs or drink to the point of oblivion. Risks exposure. Or more.”

“Like turning into a jaguar? Wouldn’t that freak the weed heads out?” Her short laugh lit his soul like a flash of sunlight.

He dipped his fingers into the jar, a pungent cream that reminded him of the desert, and rubbed it into his palms. Earlier, touching her had put him in a state of delirium. He straddled her at her waist but positioned himself so only his inner thighs made contact with her. He felt the heat between them the moment his palms came down on her shoulders. She felt it, too, by her soft intake of breath. His hands kneaded her knotted muscles.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch . . .”

“Stop tensing.” He worked the knot with his thumb, and it eased.

“Oh, God, that feels so much better.”

He worked through several more and then ran his hands down the length of her back, stopping at her panty line. He closed his eyes, but his hands transmitted the torturous feel of her soft skin, indents on either side of her spine, even the mental image of her.

She let out breathy groans that just about drove him crazy. He scooted farther down, working the backs of her legs, and finally lavished her feet with attention. They were long, elegant, toenails expertly painted.

When he finished her other foot, she twisted her head around to look at him. “That was amazing. How did you learn to massage like that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think about it, I just follow my instinct.”

“This is part of what I want to learn next,” she said. “I want to be able to help people like this.” She grabbed a handful of sheets as she sat up. “Take off your shirt. I want to work your back.”

He supposed that’s how he’d worded it to her, but the order sounded provocative coming from her. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t ‘have to.’ I want to. And you’ll let me, because you’re sore, too. It’s only fair.” She pinned him with a stubborn gaze tinged with a smile that told him she was enjoying gaining her power and wasn’t going to let him back out.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

To give her privacy, he turned and pulled off his shirt. He could hear her putting on her clothes behind him and gave her a few extra seconds.

“You dress amazingly,” she said when he turned around. “I love a guy who takes pride in his appearance. I mean, I love
when
a guy takes pride. Most seem to grab whatever they first come upon in a store and don’t give much thought to putting an outfit together.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of that kind of compliment. Her expression, though, was sincere, as she knelt on the bed in front of him.

“You’re not accusing me of being a metrosexual, are you?”

She laughed, again, that beautiful sound. “Not hardly. You don’t use enough hair product.”

He ran his hand across his forehead in feigned relief. “Whew.”

She tilted her head. “You’re way too . . .
primal
. Practical.”

He raised an eyebrow at the way her voice had gone a little raw when she said “primal.” He said, “I buy most of my clothing online. I’m not too primal to use one of those computer things.”

“I didn’t mean primate, silly. Primal, animalistic . . .” Her gaze dropped to his bare chest. “Savage.” She blinked. “I mean, it’s hard to find time to preen when you’ve got some creature on your trail.”

Why should it bother him what she thought, anyway? But the way she’d said “savage” with an ember in her eyes tightened him right down to his core.

“Okay, lay down.” She took the jar of rub from the floor.

This was probably not a good idea. Bad enough, him touching her. For her to touch him . . . electricity zinged through his body at the thought. But he did ache, and he couldn’t reach his back well enough to do a good job of working in the rub.
Sure, keep rationalizing when you should have refused.

He held in his own intake of air when she ran her hands down his back. She sat beside him, her thigh touching his side, working his shoulders.

“Your knife got left behind in the woods.”

“I’ve got others.”

“I saw them. So many different kinds.”

“I’ve been collecting them for a long time. And I inherited my father’s collection. They’re not only functional, but artistic. Some are very old, from distant cultures and extinct tribes. I’ve traveled all over the world to hunt them down.”

“You don’t use a gun.”

“I don’t trust them. Sometimes they lose their efficiency when they morph with me. Knives are simple. They don’t malfunction.”

She worked in silence for a few minutes, running her hands down both sides of his spine, working out his aches. He let his arousal flare; she couldn’t see it. Heaven and hell at the same time. It was a rare gift to be in a place where he could safely indulge his desires with a woman who wasn’t looking for something permanent. He gave everything but his emotions. Now he was with the one woman he’d always had feelings for, and a back rub was all he could let himself do. When he was with her, he had to shut off those feelings in case she picked up on them.

She ran her hands down his arm, her fingers sliding between his. Desire coiled inside him. Her body leaned over his back, not close enough to feel physically, but he could feel her energy. The tip of her braid brushed his skin with her movements, leaving a tickly trail.

She worked his neck, a slow kneading motion. Her voice came from close to his ear. “You’re not one of us, are you? An Offspring, I mean.”

“Ah, I see. Get me all relaxed and then mind probe me.”

“You got me figured out. Now that I have you right where I want you, you must answer my questions. And don’t go to sleep again. I’m on to you.”

He chuckled. He
had
dropped off to sleep to avert her questions. “What makes you ask?”

“A few things struck me as odd. Like when Pope talked about the Offspring being part of his family, he didn’t include you. I don’t know of any Offspring who can morph. And when Pope talked about the SCANE, you didn’t ask what it was because you knew. I presume your father told you. And he knew Pope, but it didn’t seem to be from here. I put the pieces together, and the only way they fit is that you’re not an Offspring.”

“Not exactly.”

“You told us you were, that first time we met.”

“It was easier than explaining, and it wasn’t important. Still isn’t.”

“Yes, it is. I’m trying to make sense of it. Of you, I suppose.”

He turned his head to meet her gaze. “Why?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” Her eyes narrowed. “I do know, actually. You know a lot about me. Heck, even about my crush on Lucas. It’s not fair that you know so much and I know hardly anything about you.”

He might have shut off her line of questioning, but he sensed her deep need to know more. He sensed so much from her, her own pleasure at touching him, her building desire and also her fear of him, though he wasn’t sure if it was of his jaguar or his profession. Her fear was good. Her persistence was not.

She went on. “It drove me crazy not knowing why we couldn’t be together, and even when I accepted that I wouldn’t see you again, I still wanted to know who you were. I know some now, but not enough. I don’t want to be part of your world of creatures, knives, living on edge . . . I tried forgetting about those weeks of hell.” Defeat softened her words. “But I couldn’t forget about you.”