Authors: Vonna Harper
After giving Todd her home phone number, she got into her car, but instead of heading toward Fort Lauderdale where she was expected, she pulled a U-turn.
“I know I saw you. You’re real! Damn it, I know you exist.”
A large truck and trailer barreled past, the blast of air swirling her limp hair about her face. Mala grabbed the dark length with one hand and held it against the nape of her neck. Fighting a deep sense of failure, she tried to reassure herself that someone would report the man as missing, and she’d be vindicated. But the only thing that mattered was that a man—strong and young with a lifetime ahead of him—was out there somewhere.
Trapped.
Trapped?
She recoiled from the thought, but couldn’t argue it away. Logic said he must be injured or dead. Otherwise, why hadn’t he stumbled out?
However, something she couldn’t put a name to told her that neither of those things was true. Like a caged animal, she paced the narrow shoulder. The sun had returned, but it had done nothing to make her footing less treacherous. If that dog didn’t find anything, no further search would be made. Her man would remain lost.
Her man?
No. Hardly that.
More like the other way around.
“What do you want me to do?”
Stay.
Whimpering, Mala backed away until she collided with her car. She couldn’t have heard anything! She couldn’t!
And yet—
“Are you there? Why don’t you show yourself?”
I can’t.
She was losing her mind. “Why not? This—this is—why not?”
I don’t know.
“Don’t—know?” She tried to go on, but her throat dried up. There were more vehicles on the highway now. The people in those cars and trucks might be taking note of the crazy lady standing dangerously close to the wilderness, talking to it, pacing. Her body on fire.
“What’s your name?”
Please fuck me! Please!
“Who are you?”
Laird Jaeger.
His throat was dry, but he didn’t dare dip his hands into the stagnant pond. He’d been on the move for hours. His jeans were ruined, his feet raw. When the heat and humidity had become too much, he’d taken off his shirt. He swore he’d tied it around his waist, but it was gone now, lost in the nothingness that had claimed him. His pockets were empty, his mind void of everything except the need for survival.
That and the connection he’d made with the woman.
She was gone now, and although he understood she wouldn’t wait forever for his return, he was angry that she had so little faith in him. Yet why should he expect anything else? He’d had hours in which to make sense of what had happened and get back to the world he knew, but he hadn’t been able to accomplish that pig-simple task.
Instead, there’d been endless bugs and frogs, grass-choked swamp, dark pools and barely moving canals. Had he been going in circles, traveling deeper and deeper into nothing?
Panting against the heat, he waited for fear to envelop him, but it still didn’t. It was almost as if he belonged here. As if he accepted he would die here.
What made him think that? Dying wasn’t even on his radar, and how could he think he belonged someplace when he didn’t know where it was?
He heard a limpkin’s wailing cry. A distant alligator bellowed. The call seemed right, proud and defiant. When the roaring, buzzing, hissing, screaming noises circled him, he kept himself from becoming lost in the music by concentrating on another sound—a woman’s cry. He “spoke” to her, again told her his name, demanded she not forget him.
Hour upon hour, he sensed nothing except harsh, ancient smells and that unholy din, thirst and hunger and the unending question of why he’d been brought here. Someone, or something, had taken hold of him, stripped him of who and what he’d always been, thrust him into this uncivilized place. Was here with him.
“I will not go through this alone,”
he told the woman. “
You will come to me. You will.”
Chapter Three
The air conditioning wasn’t working in the Fort Lauderdale motel room, but Mala was barely aware of the sticky heat. After placing the case containing her jewelry on the small table, she kicked off her sandals and collapsed on the bed.
She lay staring at the speckled ceiling, her thoughts going places her tired body couldn’t. She’d spent what was left of daylight prowling Alligator Alley. Hugging the side of the road had done nothing to sway her conviction that she had been right about where she’d directed Todd and his fellow patrolmen to look.
Not that being sure had changed anything, she admitted as she became aware of the blinking telephone light. Because she’d told Sandy where she’d be staying, it had to be her friend trying to get in touch with her. The past five years had been a journey to where she was tonight career-wise, and yet it no longer mattered because a stranger on a motorcycle had become more important. Had penetrated her in frightening, exciting ways.
Still—
On the tail of a sigh, she sat up and dialed the motel operator who informed her that Sandy had left three messages asking—insisting—she get in touch with her immediately.
“Where the hell have you been?” Sandy demanded before Mala had time to do more than say hello.
“It’s a long story. I’m sorry. I know you were worried.”
“Yeah, I was, old kid. But that isn’t the half of it. Ralph called asking if the three of us could get together for dinner tonight instead of waiting to meet in his office tomorrow. Naturally I said yes, and then when I couldn’t get hold of you, I had to cancel. I don’t know what he’s going to think. Hopefully chalk it up to artistic temperament. I just hope he won’t decide you’re undependable.”
Ralph Korn of Southeast Jewelry Unlimited had long dealt with independent crafts people. He wouldn’t be successful if he hadn’t developed an instinct about those who could be depended on. Sandy would have done her best to make things right, but they deserved an explanation. The apology she could handle. As for the explanation—
“Where were you?” Sandy demanded.
“What?” she asked, then struggled to correct herself. “You don’t have time for the whole story. Besides, if I get going, I’ll sound like an idiot.”
Or sex-starved, which I am.
“I’ll try to make sense of it in the morning. The meeting’s still set for then, right?”
“Yes. You’re not going to blow it. You’ve worked too damn hard, and you’re incredibly talented. You deserve this break. All right. Enough of the morale booster and lecture. I’m serious, though. The competition’s intense. I’m thinking we need to get together before early tomorrow. What if…”
Mala tuned her friend out, paying just enough attention that if Sandy asked another question, hopefully she’d be able to field it, but knowing Sandy, it would be a long time before she ran down. Her friend was right. Tomorrow could be a major turning point in her life, and she should be wired. She had been until the storm and the man.
Laird Jaeger
.
What had it been, mind control? More like body control along with something that stirred her as she’d never been before.
Still holding on to the receiver, she turned on the lamp, then reached for her case and opened it. Light spilled over compartments filled with necklaces, bracelets, and earrings, all created from her trademark abalone and silver. She’d been making jewelry inspired by sunsets and sunrises, dew on leaves, pristine beaches and white-flecked waves since she was in high school, experimenting and refining until these pieces and hundreds of others like them became an extension of herself. Now, in part because of Sandy’s connections, she had the opportunity to become a full-time jewelry maker.
“Sandy,” she said finally. “I’ll be there. I promise.”
After hanging up, she stared at the samples of her work Ralph Korn would be looking at tomorrow, but then her vision blurred, and she lay back down on the thin coverlet. Sandy had called her dependable, but she wasn’t. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have left Laird Jaeger alone.
Laird Jaeger.
She felt, not exactly a presence, but
something
settle beside her. Whatever it was felt like pinpricks along the length of her backbone, heightened awareness at the base of her spine most of all, growing warmth in her pelvic region. With her eyes resolutely closed, she surrendered to whatever it was.
“You’re mine. You have to be.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Whatever is happening, I will not go through it alone
.”
“What can I do? I failed to—”
“This was meant to be.”
“The accident?”
“No accident. Fate.”
Fate
. The warmth in her belly and beyond increased, demanded attention. Moaning, she turned onto her side and pressed her hand hard against her stomach. Already her breasts felt too swollen for her bra.
“I’m doing what I have to. You’re my connection to the world. I must have that. Must keep you with me.”
Although she didn’t move, barely breathed, Mala felt a man’s hand cover hers, pull it off her belly and replace it with his own. Shivering, she asked herself the vital, stupid question: did she want this? Hell yes!
Impatient with clothing, he yanked off her shorts as if he had every right to do whatever he wanted with and to her and threw them on the floor. Her practical briefs no longer hugged her waist, but had been pulled half off her hips. She waited for them to join her shorts. Instead, a hand that felt like fine sandpaper slid under the fabric. In her mind—maybe only in her mind—she spread her legs. She felt so damn exposed, like a mare in heat waiting to be mounted.
Strong, short fingernails teased away her pubic hair and found willing flesh. His other hand settled over her hipbone and pressed her against the mattress. She arched her spine, but although she might have been able to break free, that was the last thing on her mind. In truth she wasn’t sure she still had a brain, not that it mattered. Forget self-restraint. Bring on an old-fashioned dose of sex. For an excruciating length of time, he simply held her prisoner while his nails tasted and tested the rounded bulge in front of her clit. She couldn’t think past the exploration. Wanted more.
He knew what he was doing. Oh damn, did he.
“Don’t…make me…”
Don’t make me wait, please,
she finished silently.
She heard laughter. A moment later the hand slid fully between her legs. He cupped her cunt and pressed. For maybe a half-second she was terrified of his bold possession, but what the hell. He wasn’t here in the flesh. Besides, whatever was going on was a thousand times better than masturbating.
Sometimes raking lightly, sometimes pressing with enough force that it bordered on the painful, he branded her now pulsating bud. He teased at the entrance to her passage as she broke out in a sweat, but although he must know how desperately she wanted it, he didn’t penetrate. Just the same, she felt herself rising, rising, growing and becoming hot. No, not just hot. On fire! It was happening so fast. So hard. So close to climax. So close!
“Fuck me,” she begged. “Damn you, do it!”
“No.”
“Damn you.”
“Not yet.”
“Yet? What—” Before she could continue, he caught her swollen bud between thumb and forefinger. Gasping, she arched toward him, nearly levitating off the bed. Just one more touch, please, just one and she’d be there. Gone!
“No! Please,” she gasped when suddenly, cruelly, he released her. “Don’t stop. Not now!”
“Soon. I promise.”
Still on fire, she threw herself into a sitting position and looked wildly around. She was wet between her legs. Throbbed. On the brink.
Brought to that place by a man who existed only in her mind. Who spoke and commanded and claimed in ways that defied description and both thrilled and terrified her. Like a drunk without a drink for too long, she couldn’t focus on anything except the next time. And there would be a next, damn it! Only, when he again clamped his hard, powerful hand over her cunt, he’d better be there in person.
There was a glow like hundreds of fireflies, except they formed a human outline.
More curious than afraid, Laird watched the approaching pinpricks of light. Not long ago he’d been determined to put the pieces of this crazy puzzle that had become his life together, but something, maybe the vegetation, had blunted the edges of his determination. He’d never call himself passive, but there was nothing wrong with accepting the status quo. Being more interested in what lay ahead of him than what he’d given up. He wanted to stand, but his muscles refused to obey his command. Although he knew he’d find nothing, he reached for the front jeans pocket which always held a small knife, but even if he still had it, what good was a short blade against fireflies?
“Thunder.”
For a half beat, the jungle silenced, leaving only the single, haunting word. It seemed to have come from the glowing outline, but he couldn’t be sure. The figure—did he dare call it that?—glided closer. If there was a face, the night kept it hidden from him. He saw long, lean limbs, wispy and yet real. The man, or whatever it was, didn’t appear to be wearing anything. If he had such things as feet, they didn’t seem to be touching the ground.
A shadow, a shade, a shape unlike anything he’d ever seen. Because his eyes weren’t telling him enough, Laird tried to smell whatever now hovered less than ten feet away, but the swamp-stench was too strong. Either that or this ghostly creature smelled exactly like his surroundings.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Night Hunter.”
Laird jerked back. At the same time, the “thing” called to him in a way more powerful than any woman ever had. Crouching, he waited out a distant panther’s scream. “What are you, Night Hunter? What—”
“Listen and learn, Thunder.”
Was this creature who wanted to be known as Night Hunter calling him Thunder? Before he could decide whether to ask, the big cat again filled the air with its primal cry. There
was
the remotest possibility that a panther lived this close to civilization, but in his heart of hearts, he knew that wasn’t the case.