The Dark Gate (15 page)

“Let me.” She unbuttoned his jeans and smiled. “I'm starting to get into this undressing thing.”

“You can undress me—or undress in front of me—anytime you like.”

“I'll bet.” She slid his zipper down over the hard length of his erection, pulling a groan from his throat. He was so hard, so ready. She slid her hand inside the elastic waistband of his boxers to feel the soft damp tip straining toward her. Her fingers slid over the velvet smoothness, down the hard length of him until she held him firmly in her hand.

“Sweetheart, I think you forgot something. The undressing part.”

She leaned forward and kissed his bare shoulder. “I'm getting there.” Her fingers trailing a silent retreat, she knelt in front of him and pulled his jeans down his legs, then his boxers until he stood in front of her like a god in the moonlight.

He bent and removed a small foil packet from the pocket of the jeans. Then he grabbed her and her world tipped. Larsen found herself flat on her back in the cradle of his arms.

Tenderness poured through her as she wrapped her arms around him. Her breaths were ragged. Her hips were growing restless, moving.
Needing.

“Jack, I want you.”

“Honey, I've never wanted anyone or anything more.” He kissed her temple, then rose, straddling her legs. The night sky framed his head with a smattering of stars as he covered himself with the condom. He came to her and she opened herself to him. He entered her with one smooth thrust. Nothing had ever felt so perfect. So right.

Exquisite sensation exploded from her center outward until she could think of nothing, remember nothing but this moment, this man and the hard thrust of his hips, then fullness filling her and retreating and filling her again. She pulled his face down to her and kissed him deeply, curling her tongue around his, wrapping her legs around his hips, wanting him closer. Deeper. Hers.
I need you. I need you.

With every hard thrust, he drove her higher. Higher.

His mouth trailed over her jaw. His head lifted and he looked down at her, their gazes meeting, locking. One.

“Fly for me,” he whispered.

“And you for me.”

The climax burst within her, shattering her into a million blinking stars. As she floated back to earth, Jack thrust hard once, twice more, then on a deep growl of satisfaction, collapsed against her.

But as she cradled his head on her shoulder, running her fingers through his hair, another scene began to overlay the dark night. The harsh daylight of another vision.

 

Larsen didn't freeze this time, recognizing this vision as one of the odd bedroom scenes, not one of her horrible death visions. But she wasn't in a bedroom this time. She was in the back of a hay wagon.

A woman lay in the wagon, her hair soaked, her round face damp with sweat and gray with nearing death. A second young woman, wearing a pioneer-style bonnet, sat beside her, holding an infant to her breast, crying.

“See?” the second woman said through her tears. “She's healthy. Your daughter's eating already, Sarah. She's going to be fine. You're both going to be fine.”

“Jenny.” The prone woman touched the other woman's arm. “My blood soaks the hay. You must raise her as your own.” She gripped the woman's wrist. “When she reaches first womanhood, there is something you must do, Jenny. It's important. You must bring her into her voices.”

“Her what?”

Sarah squeezed her eyes closed as if in terrible pain. “If she's Esri-touched—true to my line, she'll possess a gift—a wonderful gift that will turn on her and destroy her without help. She has a gateway within her head to her forefathers. As a child she'll hear their voices as mere noise. She'll not understand them. Without intervention, as she becomes a woman the noise will grow worse and worse until it tears apart her mind. You must help her, Jenny. When she reaches womanhood you must perform the Ritual of Understanding.”

“Sarah…I don't know what you want of me.”

“It's simple, Jenny.” Moment by moment, Sarah's voice grew weaker. “Press your thumbs to her temples and say these words over and over.
Eslius turatus a quari er siedi. Eslius turatus a quari er siedi.
Promise me, Jenny.”

The woman named Jenny nodded, the tears falling freely down her cheeks. “I…I'll try.”

“Tell her she'll feel like she's falling, but she must not fight it. When the falling ends, the noise will cease. The voices will speak to her, clear and true, and only when she has need of them.”

Sarah's hand fell away from Jenny's wrist. “You must do this for her, Jenny. Promise…”

The woman—Sarah—died.

Jenny's tears turned to sobs. “I don't understand, Sarah. I don't understand. But I'll do as you ask.”

And suddenly the scene shifted to a modern bedroom and a young man sitting on a twin bed, head in his hands, his fingers pressed to his head. He was older than any of the others she'd seen. Nearly an adult. Posters of past baseball greats lined the walls behind him.

“Shut up,” he said, low and angry. “Just shut up. Leave me alone.” With a growl of frustration he looked up with tormented blue eyes and Larsen stared into the face of a younger Jack.

And then her vision cleared. Once more she was lying on the ground, the night air sliding over her heated skin. Jack's warm, naked body was spooned at her back, his hand stroking her arm.

Heart pounding, Larsen's mind swirled with Sarah's revelation. Was it possible? My, God.
He had the voices of his forefathers in his head.
Just as Myrtle claimed her own ancestor had.
Jack's
ancestor.

His arm tightened around her. “Shh, sweetheart. You're safe, Larsen. You're safe with me.” He thought she'd frozen on him again.

Without intervention, the noise will grow worse and worse until it tears apart her mind.

Is that what was happening to Jack? Myrtle said her ancestress with the voices in her head was institutionalized and never saw her children again. She wasn't there to pass down the Ritual of Understanding, to teach them to use their gift. To keep future generations from going insane.

The knowledge had been lost.

Until now.

Realization fell into place like the tumblers of a lock. Somehow Jack's ancestors had found a way to communicate with
her,
through the one sense she possessed that others didn't. Her second sight. Her devil's sight.

A hard shiver tore through her.

His lips brushed her bare shoulder. “You're safe, angel.”

“I know, Jack. I'm okay.”

But she felt like she'd jumped off a cliff in the dark, unsure if the ground stood inches below her feet…or miles. Every time she got one of these visions, the non-death ones, she and Jack had been touching. The first time was beneath the tree as they'd waited for Harrison Rand. Jack had clasped her hand and fallen asleep. The second time they'd been in the bed in Charlie's apartment, as Jack clasped her hands over her head. And just now as they'd joined in the most intimate of embraces.

His ancestors wanted her to help him.
They'd shown her the way. Taught her the words.

Oh, God. It was insane. Impossible.

Yet it all fit. She'd seen Jack grip his head as if he were in pain. His younger self had done the same, as had the other kids in the visions. Each episode had shown her the same thing—how to perform the ritual. How to bring Jack into his voices.

Panic flared beneath her rib cage. She couldn't tell him. The very thought of telling him about her visions—
any
of her visions—sent cold dread spiraling deep and heavy inside her. He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't accept elves, how could he accept
her?

As his warm hand stroked the heated skin of her abdomen and breast, one thought careened through her brain: she had to try to help him before his mind collapsed beneath the weight of the noise. Now. Before she forgot the words.

She brushed her cheek against the muscled arm that cradled her head as fear clutched her stomach. How could she tell him what she had to do without explaining how she'd come about the knowledge?

Maybe she didn't have to tell him. The ritual was simple enough. With any luck, she could bring him into his voices without him ever knowing she was involved.

Her gaze sliding across the star-studded sky, she prayed this night had room for a second miracle.

“H
ow about a back rub?” Larsen asked.

Jack propped himself on his elbow, wanting to see her face. “I didn't scare you?”

She rolled onto her back and looked up at him, the moon's glow like twin diamonds in her dark eyes. “You didn't scare me.”

But raw, subtle tension vibrated off her in waves.

Would she ever trust him enough to share her private demons? Could he ever trust anyone enough to share his own? Perhaps some things simply had to remain secret. He supposed he could live with that. At least this time she hadn't frozen on him until
after
they'd made love.

God, she'd been amazing. Sensual, abandoned, everything he'd ever dreamed of. Just thinking about that little moonlit striptease was enough to get him hard again. But her passion hadn't lasted. He'd barely finished coming inside her when she'd turned, shaking and unresponsive, as if she'd been sucked into some nightmare world. He wished to hell he knew what was going on in that head of hers. How could he protect her if he didn't know what haunted her?

And he had a sudden, overpowering need to protect her.

“Jack…?”

He trailed his fingers down her face, from her temple to her jaw line. “Hmm?”

“Can I give you a back rub?”

His lips twitched and he leaned down and kissed her, brushing her lush, cool mouth, drinking the sweet taste of lingering passion. “You can rub me any place you like.”

She gave a small, feminine snort and patted his shoulder, then rolled out from under him. “Lie down.”

“The grass is wet.”

She made a sound of amused disbelief. “Hypocrite. You were happy enough to have me lying on it.”

A burst of joyous laughter caught in his chest and he grabbed her and upended her back onto the grass, his naked body once more covering hers. He grinned down at her. “I like you lying on it…as long as I can act as your blanket.”

Her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled him down for a thorough, mind-destroying kiss. With every stroke of her tongue, every caress of her fingers against the back of his neck, his joy grew stronger, filling him until the air seemed to squeeze from his lungs.

She was his, dammit.
His.
And he wanted to shout it to the moon. She was his mate. His partner.

His love.

He froze, mid-kiss.
Love.

Hell.

Larsen pushed at his shoulders. “Lie down, Jack. I want to give you a back rub.”

He was too stunned to argue. When in the hell had he fallen in love with the woman? Yet he had. There was no denying he wanted her, not just for this moment, but for always. Forever.

Head spinning, he let her push him onto his stomach on the damp grass where she wanted him. He felt her straddle his hips, her soft sex brushing his buttocks. A groan escaped his throat as need surged through him all over again. Dammit. He'd only brought one condom and he was ready to make love to her all over again.

Wonder filled him. How many times had he thought he'd made love to a woman? More times than he could count. Only now did he understand the difference. With the others, he'd had sex. Just sex. He'd truly made love to only one woman. Larsen.

“Relax,” she said, then began to rub his shoulders with quick, tense motions that were anything but relaxing.

He grinned into the crossed arms that pillowed his head. She didn't have the first idea how to give back rubs. But as long as she was touching him, he was a happy man. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to whatever she wanted to do to him. Then it would be his turn. Oh,
yeah.

Her hands clasped his head. “Facedown. I'll give you a head massage, too.”

Jack smiled and rested his forehead on his arms. “I'm your willing slave, sweetheart.”

Her fingers dug through his hair, then down to his temples where she began to press and murmur something beneath her breath.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.” But she continued her murmurings. Maybe some kind of prayer. He hadn't taken her for a…

Searing pain split his head, tearing a yell from his throat, ripping him from his body and sending him tumbling into blackness.

Terror swirled through him, raking him with razor-sharp claws as he free fell through madness, an inky blackness that had no form. Voices all around him. He could feel them, not just hear them. They ripped at his skin from inside, as if clawing to get out. Pain seared every nerve ending, every cell and molecule of his body.

Falling.

Stop. He had to stop.

He struggled against the insanity that swallowed him. Was this it? The moment he'd feared all his life? The moment he went completely, utterly insane?

No.
Climb out. Out. Or be lost.

“Jack!”

Larsen.

She needed him. Fear for her twined with his terror, expanding them into one until his mind threatened to explode like a balloon with too much air.

Where was she? Where was
he?

Falling.

The voices joined in with the pain and surged into a riot of sound that would have exploded his eardrums if he'd had any. If he'd been anything more than pure pain.

“Jack! I'm sorry. Come back. Come back.”

Larsen needed him. He had to reach her. But how? He had to stop falling. He had…to…stop.

The sensation of falling ceased abruptly.

The feeling of drowning in a thick black fog took its place. Voices screamed at him from every side. Voices that threatened to tear him apart.

“Jack!”

Larsen. He had to get to her.

“Jack.”

He followed the voice.
Keep calling, Larsen. Keep calling.

“Jack, wake up.
Jack.
”

And suddenly he was back in his body, lying facedown in a bright pool of agony. He rolled over and blinked up at her, gripping his head against the slicing pain.

In the early dawn light, he could see the tears in her eyes and he reached for her face.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“Larsen?” Why was she sorry?

“I didn't know, Jack. I swear I didn't know. I thought it would help.”

He closed his eyes and tried to control the pain enough to think. He was losing his mind. Suddenly, terribly.

Not now. Not when he finally had something—
someone
—to live for.

“I'm so sorry.”

He sat up with effort, his stomach aching as though he'd been sucker-punched, every muscle taut and bruised. She was sorry.

“Why?”

Larsen stared at him like a doe in the headlights, tears glistening in her brown eyes. “I thought I could help you understand the voices.”

Her words tore through his chest like a bullet. He grabbed her wrist, suddenly,
horribly
clearheaded. “What did you say?” No one knew about his voices. He'd never told a soul. No one!

“I…I was trying to help you.”

“
By nearly driving me to the brink of madness?
Why did you think I needed help?”

“You…talk in your sleep.” Her eyes shifted sideways, just a flicker, but it was enough.

She was lying. Unbelievable—she was lying to him again! “What in the hell did you do to me?” She winced and he loosened his hold on her, but grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close. “I want the truth, Larsen. For one blasted moment, give me the truth. What in the hell did you do to me?”

“I don't know. I thought it would help you, but it didn't.”

“Help me
how?
”

She tugged against his hold on her arm. “Let me go, Jack.”

“Answer me.”

“I can't explain.” She stared at him with those dark, secret-filled eyes.

“You'd damn well better start. You've been lying to me from the beginning. From the moment you left that church, you've been lying.” Yet he'd chosen to ignore it.
Fool.

The evidence of her duplicity swirled around him, pummeling him from every direction, ripping his heart to shreds. “Your touch…. every time I touch you, the voices quiet. It's magic, isn't it? You're quieting the voices with magic. You're one of them.”

“No!”

His angel.
God, he was a fool. He gripped her arm until she winced. “What did you do to me? You tried to steal my mind.”

“No! I…had a dream. I think your voices were talking to me. They told me what to do and I tried to do it. I was trying to help you.”

And then it hit him. His fingers were wrapped around her bare skin, yet the voices were as loud as ever. Her touch no longer quieted the riot.

The final betrayal. Denial clawed at his throat.

“You've stopped quieting them. After pulling me through hell, you've taken even that from me.” Despair crashed over him. His mind was almost gone. The one who might have saved him had turned on him.

He released her, suddenly unable to touch her. She reached for him.

“Stay away from me.” Pain.
So much pain. She'd discovered his madness. No one knew.
No one had ever known.
Everything was wrong. Every single thing in his life was wrong.

He pulled on his clothes and headed for the house alone, leaving his heart shattered and bleeding by the creek.

 

What had she done?

Larsen hugged her knees to her bare chest as tears burned the backs of her eyes. She'd tried to help him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Why had she thought it would work? Why had she thought her visions could ever be used for good? They'd always brought death and misery. Poor Jack. The sound of his cry of pain lashed through her memory. God, what had she done to him? For a moment, she'd thought she was losing him.

In the end, she had.

A misty rain began to fall as even the stars abandoned her. Larsen pushed herself to her feet and struggled into her clothes, hands shaking, her heart shriveling at the memory of the way he'd looked at her just before he left, just before the clouds covered the moon's glow, leaving her in darkness. In his beautiful eyes she'd seen disgust.
Betrayal.

Yet it was
she
who felt beaten and betrayed.

Every time I touch you, the voices quiet.

Pain lanced her heart as the meaning of his words tore through her anew. For the first time, she understood why he touched her so often. Touching her had quieted the voices in his head as his ancestors tried to communicate through her visions.

All she'd been to Jack was a cure for the noise. A tool to quiet his head. The soft touches, the romantic little gestures had never had anything to do with his feelings for her. He'd have been all over the kitchen sink if stroking it had had the same effect.

Unhappiness twisted her into knots of dull misery. She wanted to hate him for using her, but she'd seen the kids in those visions. She'd seen Jack hold his head in pain. Touching her had brought him some relief. It wasn't fair to blame him for that.

Yet it was clear the relationship she'd thought was growing between them was a sham. He'd needed her, but not the way she was starting to need him.

The tears slipped down her cheeks. How many years had she kept others at bay knowing—
knowing
—nothing good could ever come of letting someone else get close?

She didn't need Jack Hallihan. She didn't need anyone.

And maybe if she repeated that over and over and over, her chest would stop feeling like it was cracking apart. Her heart would no longer feel like it was breaking.

 

Pain pounded the inside of Jack's head, pummeling him like a million brass-knuckled fists until he expected the bone to crack and shatter. The pain should have stopped. Never before had the voices actually hurt. But two hours had passed since he'd left Larsen at the creek and the pain remained fierce.

What had she done to him?

He watched the light rain fall like a mist outside the guest room window. Behind him, the familiar beep-beep of a
Road Runner
cartoon triggered David's infectious giggle.