Authors: Joss Ware
Wyatt froze.
Orange crystals.
Something chilly rushed down his spine. Remy had a glowing orange crystal.
He was swept back to the incident last night, when he’d found her writhing on the ground, that glowing orange stone set in her sleek belly like a large and gaudy navel piercing.
Definitely not what he’d picture a woman like Remy wearing, despite her explanation that it was just a piece of jewelry.
He knew she was lying. Remy lied and prevaricated about everything. Of course she had something to hide—it was obvious since the moment he and the others found her in the small home where she had her pottery shop.
When she’d shot at him.
I wasn’t shooting
at
you.
Bullshit.
He remembered her standing there with the gun in her hand, those blue, blue eyes cool and determined. Settling on him as she warned them not to move, then pulling the trigger when he did. The memory of her taking that risk still made him cold with anger.
But his fury was offset by the remembrance of dragging her battered, bruised body from where she was chained beneath the bounty hunter’s truck. She’d looked just as bad as some of the gang-raped women he’d seen in Iraq. Maybe worse.
His belly tightened with nausea at the thought of the evil men could inflict on others.
A soft, urgent bark caught his attention, and Wyatt’s tension eased. He climbed down the ladder and found Dantès pacing uneasily, ears up at full attention. He wasn’t panting with enthusiasm, as when it was time to play—he was silent, clearly worried, on alert.
“Do you sense it too, big boy?” Wyatt asked, crouching next to the big dog. “They’re on a tear tonight, aren’t they? It’s like they’re searching for something and finally think they’ve found it.”
Dantès smelled like comfort and warmth, and Wyatt wasn’t ashamed, there in the moonlight with that big furry body next to him, to squeeze his burning eyes tightly shut for a moment as he embraced the animal.
Not only had Dantès brought the light into his dark world simply by being loyal and unconditionally loving, but he reminded Wyatt of his own, long-gone companion Loki.
When he released the dog, Wyatt realized that he hadn’t seen Remy since she ran back to the house last night, after he helped her remove that burning crystal.
He rose slowly, uneasiness settling over him. He tended to avoid her as much as possible, but everyone in the house generally ate together unless they were involved with something. She hadn’t been at dinner, he knew that.
It wasn’t as if he wanted to seek her out. He had no desire to do that—he knew he wasn’t in any condition to be human toward anyone, let alone a woman who couldn’t help but piss him off by her very presence. Especially one as damaged as she was. But something was up. He’d been in enough tense situations to know to listen to his instincts. And Dantès was acting oddly as well.
“Where’s mama?” he said, forcing excitement he didn’t feel into his voice. “Where is she? Let’s go find her!”
Dantès had leapt to attention at the question and then gave a little whine that did nothing to ease Wyatt’s concern.
Shit.
“Come on, boy, let’s go find her!” He gestured with his hand, and the dog took off for a few paces, then came circling back around with another little whine and a short, high-pitched bark. He danced in front of Wyatt, as if asking for assistance, confusion in his very stance.
And that was when he knew for certain: Remy was gone.
I
t was well into the evening when Ana heard the knock on her door.
She’d just returned from visiting her dad, who was relieved to see her, once he emerged from his absent-minded fog and realized how long it had been since he’d done so. She hadn’t told him about her plans to help stop the tidal wave, knowing that Mayor Rogan would make sure everyone evacuated—and having seen Flo in action, Ana was confident that the nurse would make sure Dad left his experiments behind in exchange for saving his butt. According to Quent, he was currently examining Kaddick’s crystals and comparing them to the one Elliott managed to obtain from one of the Strangers.
She’d come back to her room to change before going down to eat in the communal dining area, and was even planning another slide into the ocean to see if anything had changed.
She certainly had no intention of meeting up with Darian again. If he was waiting for a sign from her near their meeting place, he’d be otherwise occupied and out of her way.
But now someone was knocking on her door.
Ana opened it to find Fence standing there. He looked tired, especially around the eyes, and her annoyance and anger wavered.
“Uh . . . can I come in?” he asked when she didn’t move from the threshold.
He leaned against the side of the door, his body taking up a good portion of the opening, all dark and beautiful. Ana had to force herself to remember what an ass he’d been, what a crazy, flipped-out jerk . . . but it was difficult, especially when she recognized the uneasiness in his demeanor. That reality behind the veneer of nonchalance.
She drummed up the memory of him standing there on the beach, eyes raging, face dark and angry.
I’m not fucking coming into the goddamn water.
“I don’t think so,” she managed to say now. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Fence. We’re . . . what do you want?”
He gave a little sigh and his full, luscious lips shifted into a ghost of his normal smile. “I wanted to tell you what Sage and I figured out. We think we’ve found the location, based on the general area of each set of coordinates and the maps I’ve been able to plot. I mean, we found the coordinates that are the closest to Envy.”
“When can we leave?” Ana asked, ignoring the way his muscled arm crossed the threshold as he leaned against the inside of the doorjamb.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Good,” she replied, thinking of Darian waiting at their meeting place to meet up with her. She’d be gone before he realized it.
“Quent and Zoë are going to come with us. Vaughn got one of the fishermen’s boats arranged for us to take, and Zoë’s working on a sort of contraption that we can use to help you move the stone—as long as it isn’t too deep.”
Ana nodded. “Sounds like we’re as ready as we can be, if the location is right. Thanks for bringing me up to date. What time are we leaving?”
He glanced down at his feet, then back up at her. “At sunrise.”
“Okay. I’ll be ready.” She started to close the door, but his foot—and arm—blocked it.
“And, uh, I’m sorry I got so uptight today,” he said in a rush. “It wasn’t you—it was me.”
“That’s for sure,” she replied tartly.
He looked at her, startled, and a little glimmer of humor showed in his eyes. “You sure don’t mince words, do you, sugar?”
“I don’t see any reason to float around it,” she replied.
“Ana, would you mind some company?” He seemed to sense that sincerity was a better bet than that carefree smile, so he kept his face sober. “Tomorrow . . . well, I know tomorrow’s going to be risky and tough, and I know you . . . well, hell, Ana, you saved my ass from drowning, you escaped from Atlantis, you even stonewalled Zoë downstairs, so I know you’re a tough cookie . . . but I thought you might want to . . . might not want to be alone.”
Her heart squeezed and she wavered inside. But common sense ruled.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she told him. “I find you very hard to resist—just like most women probably do—but at the same time, I don’t see any reason to pursue this. You obviously hate the ocean, and for me . . . it’s the best part of my life. I don’t see how this thing between us can go anywhere.”
His dark eyes were fixed on her, and she felt a tremor of attraction start deep in her belly and flutter up and out.
No.
She was not going to fall for that.
“Here’s the thing, Ana-sweet,” he said, dropping his voice to its deepest pitch—in the timbre that seemed to rumble deeply and deliciously inside her. “I’m going to be straight with you. I want to be with you tonight. Not anyone else. You keep mentioning other women—now and in the future—and the truth is, I don’t want to be anywhere but here. With you.”
Her heart was thudding, and she knew better, but her reservations were softening. She didn’t want to be alone either. Tomorrow she was going to embark on a journey and task that could easily end unhappily—for her and for others.
The last time she’d undertaken something so risky had been her escape from Atlantis . . . and look how that’d left her.
Fence seemed to know she was wavering. He eased farther in, grasping the door frame on either side with his hands, so that more of him was inside than out.
And before she could react, before she could gather her wits, he leaned in even more and covered her mouth with his.
Oh.
Soft and sensual . . . God, the man was a master at kissing. He took his time, convincing her with his mouth, with the slick, languorous swipe of his tongue, the gentle bussing all along her lips.
Ana closed her eyes when that smooth, delicious mouth eased over to her neck, taking its time to taste her cheek and jaw and even that delicate spot under her ear. Heat shimmered through her, weakening her knees, causing her heart to race and her lungs to forget to work.
He moved one of his hands from its place on the edge of the door, lifting her hair from her shoulder, sliding his palm around to cup her at the nape of the neck.
She was liquid and heat, and when he pulled away to look down at her, she saw the same heavy desire in his eyes.
“I want to spend the night with you, Ana,” he said, skimming his hand down her spine. To his credit, he didn’t push or pull her into him, or move into the room. He waited, his own breathing not quite steady, not quite silent and easy. “Just be with you. Not for any other reason than to be there for you . . . if you want.”
Stepping back from him was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but she managed it. Disappointment flared in his eyes, but he made no move to follow her.
“I think it’s best if I get a good night’s sleep,” she managed to say, even though her insides were hot and fluttery and ready.
Besides, you were a jerk today.
A flicker of his charming smile warmed his eyes and showed a brief flash of white teeth. “I can help with that,” he promised, and reached out to gently caress her lips with a broad fingertip.
“I suspect that what you have in mind will keep me up all night,” she countered. Her lips tingled from his touch, still full and moist from the kiss.
“Actually,” he replied, his hand easing away, “I meant . . . I could give you a back rub. Very relaxing.” He showed her his big hands, and she could already feel their smooth, long, easy strokes down her back.
Ana’s heart lodged in her throat. “Yeah, right,” she managed to say around the lump. “A back rub. That’ll change about five minutes after I let you in.”
“Only if you want it to,” he said. “I swear on my mother’s soul.”
She remembered the grief in his eyes when he’d mentioned his mother earlier, and decided that was a pretty solid vow.
She also realized that if he wanted to be down in the pub, making eyes at that blond woman who looked as if she’d jump into his pants at a moment’s notice, he could be.
But he was here. Trying to convince her that he wanted to be here. And only here.
She believed him. She wanted him here too.
“All right,” she said, and stepped back.
F
ence awoke, as he always did, at the first rays of sunlight. This time, though, he had an armful of sun goddess to greet the day with him . . . and it was after a full night’s sleep.
Not one damned nightmare, for the first time in . . . forever.
Whoa.
As he looked down at Ana, her golden-brown hair tumbled all over her shoulders and the pillow, facing away as he spooned her from behind, and his heart gave that unfamiliar lurch he’d noticed last night in the pub.
She could be the One.
True to his word, hard as it had been—in more ways than one—once she admitted him to her room, he hadn’t done so much as cop a feel or try to turn their doorway kisses into anything more than what they’d been.
Instead, they talked—both of them. And he even kept the off-color jokes and puns to a minimum, though she always seemed to find them funny. She laughed even when
he
knew they were terrible jokes.
He’d told her a little about his mama and dad, taking care not to mention anything that would reveal his true age—at least not yet. She had enough on her mind; he could see the strain in her eyes. But when they returned from this mission, if they did—and he was determined they would—he was going to tell her all about his experience with the ley lines in Sedona.
As he massaged her slender, tense shoulders, Fence had described some of his more harrowing experiences in the wilderness—some of which happened even before there were zombies.
And to his surprise, he wasn’t even tempted to take it any further—even while rubbing her back, massaging her shoulders and neck, and trying to ignore the biggest damned hard-on he could ever remember having. He just enjoyed the intimacy of touching her, listening to her, talking to her.
Even now, when Ana shifted in her sleep, bumping against him in an enticing but innocent way, he merely closed his eyes and thought of cold showers.
Last night, as they talked, he’d run his hands over her long hair, feeling its silky waves, keeping his actions acutely platonic. He’d even slept in his shorts—and he couldn’t remember the last time he actually slept in anything other than his bare skin when he wasn’t on the trail.
She could be the One.
She might
just be
the One.
Terror washed over him. How could he fall for a woman whose life was the ocean, when he couldn’t put his big toe in without pissing his pants?
What the hell kind of punishment was this?
Hell, he’d only known her for a few days.
But despite his misgivings, despite his abashment about the episode on the beach, something had compelled him to go to her last night after he finished working with Sage.
He could have gone back down to the pub, scouted out some willing companionship. He’d made friends with quite a few of the ladies—and there had been a new possibility in that bed-headed blonde.
Or he could have hung out with Vaughn and Elliott and tossed back a few with the broody Simon. “Drink tonight for tomorrow we may die,” and all that.
Their task was going to be risky and difficult, possibly even deadly, if they reached the stones as he anticipated they would. He’d seen the tightness in Ana’s face down in the computer room, and the worry remained in her eyes even when he joined her in her room. Not fear, but apprehension.
He didn’t want her to be alone.
He
didn’t want to be alone.
And . . . it was Ana he’d wanted to be with, and he wasn’t exactly sure why. He just knew he did—and not because he wanted a “We’re going off to battle, so let’s send ourselves off right, sugar” evening.
He just wanted to be with her. He recognized, too, a temptation to be honest with her. To tell her everything.
But the very thought made his belly tight and unsteady.
She stirred again, more insistently, and damn it all if she wasn’t sliding that curve of her ass
right
where it could do the most damage.
Fence gritted his teeth as she bumped against him. He kept his hands from moving, even though one arm was around her waist from behind and he could slip fingers down between her legs—
don’t think about that—
and the other could easily maneuver around to cup a breast.
Yet at the same time, he found that he couldn’t release her and move away, which would have solved the problem.
Ana yawned, stretched, and managed to snuggle her tail right up against him even harder, and then as she moved and stretched, half turning toward him, her bare breast popped out from beneath the blankets—right in front of his face.
Right there.
He held his breath and looked down at a luscious, tempting breast, a bit larger than a navel orange, ivory-gray and tipped with a blue-gray-hued nipple in early dawn’s light.
I’m so fucked.
Just then she opened her eyes and looked right up at him.
Even in the faulty light, he saw the mischief in her gaze. And then she shifted her ass once again, deliberately grinding backward into him, and he was suddenly flooded with uncontrollable need.
He bent forward and took that perky nipple between his lips, lightly at first, tasting her warm skin and gently tracing the tip of his tongue over the delicate rise. She gave a little sigh that shivered her breast against his mouth, and he opened wider, covering her, sucking and licking as he drew her nipple and its crinkling areola deeper into his mouth.
His arm, curved around her waist, was trapped by the bed, but he was able to move his hand down over her crystals to slide between her legs. The little bit of cotton panty was no match for his deft fingers, and he slipped beneath it.
She gave a little jolt when he found her, found the hot dampness at her core, and began to slide and coax and play. Ana was slick and full, and that made him surge even harder. And when she came, throbbing and undulating into his hand, her body shuddering against him, he nearly lost it himself.
Greedy and impatient now, he released her breast and used his other hand to work at the buttons of his shorts. When Ana reached around behind to help, he gave up and let her finish the work while he used his fingers to explore and coax her along again. The scent of her filled his nose as her warm, damp skin brushed against his, her hair tickling his face.
She freed him from the tight confines of his shorts and then turned away from him again, her breathing rising, her skin rushing even warmer against him.
He yanked away the panties from her ass and slid into her sleek heat, both of them groaning in tandem when he fit into place.
Oh, yes.
With long, easy strokes, he shifted, keeping his hand and fingers in place as he moved from behind. Ana sighed and shivered in front of him, her soft moans erotic to his ears.
“Now this is what I call a
very
good morning,” he murmured, easing all the way in with a sharp little thrust at the end. She gave a soft, gaspy moan, and he smiled into her hair. “Jeez, Ana, you’re so freaking hot . . . but I’ve gotta make you cry a little louder than that, sugar. All this sweet honey down here’s making me crazy.” He moved his fingers around her swollen center to emphasize his words, feeling her skin dampen with heat.
“How about that, baby?” he whispered, hearing the unsteady rasp in his voice. “How about if I just take you all the way, right now?”
She was doing that short, sharp breathing that he’d come to learn portended her orgasm, and he shifted his rhythm and his fingering to take her there. “How about a little scream this time, love? When you slide right up against me? Hmm . . .” He chuckled deeply. “Oh, yes, I know you can do it just as good as a guy can . . . come on, sugar . . . let me take you, mm—mm.” He bit off his words as she made it, giving a loud cry of release that nearly sent him over the edge.
Smiling big and happy against her hair, he held her as her shivers subsided against him. “All right, then, Ana-sweet,” he said. “
Now
it’s a good morning.”
He had to close his eyes as he felt that familiar, sharp, hot rise, and knowing he was near the point of no return, he forced it off, until it built so hot and hard that he thought he’d lose his mind.
He barely had the wherewithal to pull free just as he came, and stifled her surprised cry with the convulsing, stroking of his fingers, finishing her off as he sagged into warm bliss.
The light was brighter when he opened his eyes again, although the sun had still barely begun her rise.
“Good morning,” he said in her ear.
“It is,” she replied, stretching sinuously against him.
“You trying to get something started again?” he asked hopefully, his fingers bumping over her crystals.
Mad sexy.
She kind of turned in his arms, looking up with deep hazel eyes. “Much as I’d like to, we should probably get up.”
She would have pulled completely out of his arms, out of the bed, but he tightened his grip . . . all at once
sure
. And afraid.
Afraid, and yet compelled.
His mouth started moving before he thought it through. “I’ve gotta explain something. About the water.”
She stopped moving, and he realized he’d come to another point of no return, this one much more ominous than the one earlier.
A shudder rippled deep inside him, but he kept going, like he had the football in his arms and three linemen had their hands on him, trying to bring him down on the last play of the game.
But he kept on, pushing the words out through a desert-dry mouth. “I . . . I can’t go into the ocean. Or lakes or rivers.”
How the hell am I going to explain this without sounding like a complete pussy?
He closed his eyes, glad she was facing away and couldn’t see.
You can’t. You are a pussy.
Ana had stilled, and lay there silently, as if waiting for him. But he didn’t know what to say.
I’m terrified of it.
I’m afraid of water.
I have a phobia.
“That’s why I wigged out at you yesterday. I’m . . . I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I was . . . out of line. I should never have spoken to you that way.”
Ana hadn’t moved, and Fence was aware of the horrible sound of his heart beating, thudding like a death knell in his ears.
He waited, and she remained silent, and the thudding in his ears became harder and faster and more menacing, and at last he said, “Ana?”
“I was waiting . . . to make sure you were finished,” she said. Her voice was mild, not accusing. “I didn’t want to interrupt. It was obvious you were having a difficult time saying it.”
“That’s it.” His palms were damp against the sheets.
“Can I ask you a question . . . without you—um—wigging out?”
He squeezed his eyes closed. Hell, he deserved that. He nodded, realized she couldn’t see him, then said, “Yeah.” His throat was tight.
“I saw you in the water. Twice. I don’t understand—what do you mean, you can’t go into the water? Does it . . . hurt you? Or what?”
This was where it got dicey.
This
was the real point of no return.
“I almost drowned when I was younger,” he said in a rush. “Twice. And now I can’t go in without . . . remembering that. I get really . . . uh . . .”
“Wigged out?” she suggested.
“That’s one way to put it.” He realized he was clutching the cotton sheet and made his fingers relax. “I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I go a little . . . it just . . . takes me back to those other times. I think I’m drowning again. It’s my head, messing with me.”
Now Ana moved at last, sliding away, making his heart leap up into his throat again. But when she turned to face him, his apprehension eased a bit. “Now I understand. Thank you for telling me.”
He tried not to let out his breath in a great whoosh of relief. She didn’t
look
disgusted or shocked or disbelieving.
He struggled desperately to find something to say that would ease his tension, make her laugh . . . but there was nothing even remotely funny about the situation. Even in his warped mind.
So he just watched her, and hoped he didn’t look as pathetic as he felt.
She seemed to take this as an invitation to speak. “We were together in the ocean. I thought . . . you seemed to be breathing. In the water. That’s why I couldn’t understand . . .”
Fence’s body went still. Even his thudding heart stopped cold. “That’s impossible.”
“But I saw you, I’m sure of it. You weren’t drowning. And you weren’t holding your breath.”
He shook his head. Whatever it was, it sure as hell felt as if he were drowning. “I thought it was you, saving me. Your crystals, helping me to breathe.”
“They don’t work that way,” she said. “You were breathing under water.”
He shook his head again, but doubt crept into his mind. Simon could turn invisible. Quent could touch things and know their history. Elliott could read the inside of a body with his hands. Hell, he himself had just had sex with an Atlantean.
But the very thought of breathing underwater, of putting his face in and allowing the salty, cold sea to come in, was enough to turn him cold with terror.
“It’s just not possible,” he said. And even if it was, he sure as hell wasn’t fixing to test it out again any time soon. “Whatever happened must have been some sort of miracle.”
Ana looked at him with a long, steady glance. “I don’t believe that. I know what I saw.” She leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek, her eyelashes brushing his temple, then eased out of bed.
Time to leave.
Somewhere in the wilderness
I
an Marck looked down at the crumpled body with more than a hint of satisfaction.
Dead: neck neatly slit, eyes blank and staring at the dawning sky. Served the bastard right.
At least the son of a bitch hadn’t been turned into a zombie. Nor had his flesh been torn away and devoured by one of those pitiful, abhorrent creatures. That was good, because it meant there were remains for him to search and acquire anything of value the man might have. Including his boots. Ian’s were trashed.