His Lost Mate (A Steamy Paranormal Romance Novel) (16 page)

“It is if you love the jungle and the ruins as I do. This part of the world vibrates with the energy of its ancestors.”

“Hmmm.” Lauren didn’t agree or disagree.

They followed the overgrown path around several S-turns. Lauren nervously glanced behind her. Devil’s Pyramid was out of sight. As long as the path was clearly marked, she couldn’t get lost.

Margaret slowed and turned to face Lauren. “On the day you fainted on top of the Temple of the Two-Headed Snake, what happened? Do you remember anything?”

Lauren remembered every gory detail, but wasn’t sure if she should trust her. She didn’t look at Margaret. Instead she stared at the ground while twisting her amber ring around her forefinger. She wasn’t sure if she was going to tell her brother about these strange dreams and experiences let alone a co-worker. Even Matt would think she was daft.

“I’ve seen many unusual things,” Margaret said. “Some I understand and some I don’t. I always keep an open mind. These ruins and the jungle overflow with energy—positive, negative, supernatural and magical. This region is rich with the remnants of ancient history. Time is suspended here. And some people are sensitive to these energies. I think you’re one of them.”

“You may be open-minded, Margaret, what about Deven? He’s too much of a scientist to believe in the supernatural.”

“You’re right. Deven is more sensitive then he realizes. He dismisses the unexplained as coincidence. Are you worried about what he’ll think?”

Lauren pursed her lips and nodded. “I’ve worked so hard to get here and I’m so close to graduating. I don’t want him, or you, to think I’m crazy or that I can’t handle the workload.”

“Lauren, you’re an intelligent woman and your supernatural experiences wouldn’t shock me or lower my opinion of you.”

Lauren walked in silence. Maybe she could trust Margaret. She already suspected something had happened and she probably would understand and could explain the odd dreams and experiences. If by telling Margaret there was any way to make them stop, make the dreams go away, the ghost go away…

The trail narrowed. “I’ll lead for a while.” Lauren moved ahead of Margaret, then took a deep breath and began her story, “Okay. I do remember. It was like a nightmare, but I was awake. On the pyramid I saw men working—ancient Maya. They were thin and frail, like they were half starved. Pain and hopelessness were etched on their faces. They wore nothing except for the rags wrapped around their hips. Dozens staggered up and down the stairway of the pyramid, dragging stones tied with ropes. Other men, dressed like Mayan warriors, beat the workers with whips and clubs. But on that sacrificial slab…”

Margaret patted her shoulder from behind. “Go ahead, dear, you can tell me.”

She took in a deep breath. “Three men dressed like ancient shamans held a young woman on the slab. Another man, holding a large knife high above her, shouted words to the sky then plunged the knife into her chest.” Lauren fisted her hands. “It was horrible.”

Margaret nodded. “No wonder you passed out.”

“I think I even smelled smoke from fires, sweat and blood.” Blood was everywhere. It spilled over the stone slab, pooled at the base of the block and dripped down the steps, but she didn’t tell Margaret that part. It was too gory.

She squeezed her eyes closed and tried forcing the images out of her mind. She felt nauseous. Why was this happening to her?

“An accurate description of an ancient sacrifice to the gods. Mayan history contains evidence of astonishing violence.”

“I’ve never had dreams with so much detail and clarity.”

“Sounds more like a vision than a dream,” Margaret said. “An experience like yours usually stems from a previous life existence.”

“Reincarnation?” Lauren shook her head. “I’m not sure I believe that, but it’s an interesting theory.”

“Has anything else happened?”

Lauren moved a low-hanging limb to the side. A gusty wind swept through the trees. Large ferns undulated like flags in a stiff breeze. She hoped they hadn’t gotten lost. “This trail is getting narrower. Did we miss a turn?”

“No. We’re almost there. Are you avoiding my question?”

“No, not at all. I’ve been having dreams every night since I arrived. They seem like bits and pieces of the same dream.” She wasn’t sure if they were dreams or a message. Or was she succumbing to the spiritual energies of an ancient jungle, like Margaret said?

“Tell me about them.”

“Some of the dreams are vivid, but not violent.” The ones with the sexy warrior were especially memorable. As she and the warrior walked through the jungle together, touching hands, looking into each other’s eyes, she had smelled the scent of vegetation and jasmine, felt the spongy earth beneath her feet and the warmth of his touch. She didn’t remember ever having a dream where she had the sense of touch or smell.

“I might be able to interpret them.” The warmth in Margaret’s voice put Lauren at ease.

“In one dream,” Lauren said, “an ancient Maya gave me a gift of a carved jade owl. He said it would protect me. In another, a shaman named Muan said he was my father and also claimed the owl had powers.”

“What kind of powers?”

“For protection, I think. During some of the dreams, I wanted to escape, I could feel fear and panic, from what, I don’t know.” Lauren dug her nails into her palms to keep her hands from shaking. “The shaman said I was in danger and the warrior would take me to a safe place.” She saw a glimmer of fear in Margaret’s eyes and something ominous on her face. “What is it, Margaret?”

Margaret frowned then tried to smile. “Fascinating, dear. You should write these down. Their meaning may become clearer over time. It could be a past life experience, or you may be tapping into the history of the area. I wouldn’t worry about it though.” She didn’t sound convincing.

“Thanks, Margaret.” She was glad she told Margaret. At least Margaret didn’t think she was crazy, Lauren had worried for nothing. Still, she decided to keep the other pleasant and sometimes erotic dreams to herself.

The recurring dreams haunted her and intrigued her. Her mind frequently replayed the images. Kayab. She remembered calling the young warrior Kayab while she swam with him in a pond next to a waterfall. Water rushed over the rocky waterfall, splashing into the pond and creating ripples across the surface. Golden sunlight filtered through the trees, warming her and glistening on the warrior’s wet skin and black hair.

His mouth on her lips, his gentle caresses, his naked body pressed against hers, every detail was so real. Their slick bodies glided together in a sultry dance. She recalled his hands stroking her breasts, her bottom and slipping between her legs. The gentle probing with his fingers had sent waves of heated pleasure through her.

Long dark hair clung to his neck and shoulders and she combed her fingers through it and pulled his mouth to hers. She melted into him. When his hard, thick cock nudged against her belly, she surrendered to the passion and wrapped her legs around his hips and let him plunge into her warm, slick depths.

Lauren shivered from the memory and tried to shake herself back to reality. A large palm frond lashed her across the face, stinging her eyes. Blinking and eyes tearing, she used both hands to push aside the branches, careful not to let them swing back into Margaret.

Crisscrossing vines blocked the trail and she and Margaret had to duck and push their way through the narrow gap. When Lauren raised her head, the path was obstructed again, but not by vegetation. Standing across the trail were three men.

Lauren cried out.

The men had sharply angular features, straight black hair with bangs hanging to their brows. They wore white tunics and baggy pants and their feet were bare. Lauren slowly stepped backward, reaching behind her to alert Margaret. The man in the lead stepped toward Lauren gripping a machete as long as her arm.

* * *

Deven led Sylvia over to a wooden table inside the CUB, pulled out a folding chair for her and then sat down across the table. “Customs must have made a mistake. I’m sure once you have the artifacts, you’ll figure it out,” he said.

Sylvia didn’t look convinced. “There is no mistake. Customs accused us of not documenting all our finds.”

Deven slammed his fist on the table. “They think we’re attempting to smuggle artifacts from our dig?”

Sylvia shrugged. “Only one official brought it up. I don’t think they really believe that. You have a good reputation, Deven.” She placed her hand on his arm.

“And I intend to maintain it.” He pulled his arm out from under her hand and crossed his arms over his chest. This trip continued to throw obstacles in his path at every turn.

“Once Customs releases the artifacts and I can examine them, I’ll know for sure if there’s a record of their origin. It’s very odd. How could a find like this remain a secret?”

“It has to be a documentation error, or they’re stolen. Did Customs give you an idea when they’d release the artifacts?”

“No,” Sylvia huffed. “How am I supposed to examine them for damage and procure them for the museum? I have deadlines. I’m supposed to have the Mayan collection of Classic and Pre-Classic artifacts ready for display by the end of July.”

“I sympathize, but there’s not much I can do. Did they say why they won’t release them?”

“Evidence. They want to hold the artifacts for evidence in order to charge the smugglers when they’re caught. And that may never happen.”

Deven leaned back in his chair and unfolded his arms. “In the meantime, maybe the museum would be willing to loan you other pieces.”

“The stolen ones were large pottery vessels in excellent condition. They were the most unique and valuable items in the museum. From what’s left at the museum in Tikal, I doubt there’s anything unique enough for my collection. The looters certainly know their artifacts, as do black market buyers.”

“Can’t the Peabody Museum get by with what it has?”

Sylvia stood up abruptly and strode off into the kitchen. Deven could hear her banging around in cupboards and drawers, then finally she asked Jim for a cup of coffee. When she came back to the table with her cup, she seemed calmer.

“Only coffee?” Deven looked at his watch. “Isn’t it the cocktail hour?” He was surprised at his cynical tone. A headache could thin his patience.

Sylvia made a face. “Coffee will do for now.”

He remembered the cocktail hour at her father’s mansion in Chatham, Massachusetts, was every day around five p.m. Drinks and hors d’oeuvres were served by their maid, then a formal dinner followed.

Deven’s family was unpretentious and he never felt comfortable around Sylvia’s social-climbing family and friends.

“Deven, I know that the museum side of archaeology doesn’t interest you as much as the actual dig. I never did understand why you turned down my father’s generous offer to become a member of the board. I don’t think you understand how that position would have propelled your career and got you out of the dirt.”

“I like the dirt,” Deven said through clenched teeth. “We’ve been through this before. I have no interest in becoming a member of Peabody’s board of directors. Wasn’t that the main reason we broke up? You wanted me climbing the stuffy high society circles, cocktail hour at your daddy’s mansion and have daddy carve out a dull career for me. I’m a field archaeologist and teacher. That’s what I enjoy. It’s my life.” He felt the throbbing pain building in his temples again. Boy, he’d really like to get back to the dig.

Sylvia stared at him for a long moment. “So you never plan to marry?”

“I would like to marry someday but not to someone who wants me to give up my career.”

“What about your wife’s career? And what if you marry another archaeologist? How can you have a wife, a family and travel around the world on excavations?” Sylvia asked with a bitter tone.

“My wife should have her own career, if she wants one. And if she’s an archaeologist and we have children, they can travel with us.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “What about school?”

“Home schooling. I am a teacher.” He really didn’t want to get into this with her. He rubbed his temples.

Sylvia reached out and lightly stroked his arm. “What if I told you I didn’t mind if you continued your work as a field archaeologist? What if I told you that I still love you?”

Deven sighed and patted her hand. “Sylvia, you know we’d be at each other’s throats in a matter of weeks. Let’s save ourselves a lot of heartache and frustration and not go back there. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

She smiled, but her expression looked forced. Raising her chin and flipping her hair over her shoulders, she said, “Never mind. I’ve heard it before and you’re probably right. Can’t blame me for trying. I guess being with you brought back the good memories. I almost forgot about all the unpleasant ones.”

Somehow he doubted she was giving up so easily. He knew her too well.

She pursed her lips then smiled. “I think you have your eyes on your lovely graduate student.”

“Lauren?” He’d hoped his attraction for Lauren wasn’t that transparent. Sylvia was baiting him. “She isn’t exactly my student. She applied to our field school from Montclair State in New Jersey so she could graduate early.”

Sylvia nodded and studied his face. Deven was sure she was trying to read his expression and he was determined not to give anything away.

“Like you, she wants a career in the dirt,” Sylvia said. “You two have something in common and I think she has a crush on you.” Sylvia didn’t wait for a response, finished her coffee, got up and walked into the kitchen with her mug.

Rain pattered on the thatched roof and streamed down the screen windows. The smell of ozone was strong and a rumbling of thunder echoed in the distance. Deven sighed, relieved she hadn’t pushed the subject. He did have his eye on Lauren. Was it that obvious?

He shouldn’t be focusing his attention on a graduate student, even though she was only a couple years younger than him. The stability of the field project was as fragile as thousand-year-old parchment. The government could step in at any time and shut them down again, or the university could decide it was too dangerous for students and close the field school.