by Brenda Huber
And still he kept right on coming, uttering not a sound.
“Are you hungry?” Something flickered in his expression, and she scrambled for something to say, something to diffuse the tightness in her chest. “We have plenty of supplies. We could make—”
But he reached her side in that moment. Without saying a word, he thrust both hands into her hair, completely dislodging her bun, and dragged her close. Her hands went to his wrists, then his chest. The heat of him burned through the cotton. His heart beat steady and strong against her palm. Sebastian tipped his head down until his face was inches from hers and stared hard into her eyes. Phoebe lost the thread of her one-sided conversation.
And then he seized her mouth with his. Without uttering a sound, he demanded submission. Utterly ravishing her until she melted into him. The world spun for her, his lips, his hands, his body the only anchor she had. He kept her there, boneless and mindless, for a moment longer. And then he dragged his lips from her.
Still holding her in place, his eyes drilling into hers, he said, “You forgot my morning kiss, sweetheart.” With his hands still holding her head, he looked down over her body, lingered on those achy places and made them throb, before meeting her stare again. “I should probably warn you. If you don’t give me a kiss in there”—he jerked his head toward the tent—“then you better expect me to come looking for one. And just so you know, I don’t care who’s around, or how far I have to go to find you. I will get it.”
He moved his mouth closer to her ear, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her veins as his slightly bristly cheek rasped against hers. “You might not want to make me wait too long or”—he moved into her again, deliberately brushing an unmistakable erection against her belly—“I could get a little carried away.”
“You could get carried away in the tent too,” she pointed out, breathless.
“I could.” He grinned, wicked to the bone.
Sebastian released her abruptly, leaving her standing there on legs limp as noodles. “I think I’ll take a cup of that coffee now,” he told Marco.
Just then, Ricardo stepped back into the camp. He watched the three of them with a great deal of speculation. The smug Sebastian. The dazed Phoebe. The grinning Marco. Ricardo accepted his own coffee and took a seat opposite Sebastian. And he watched, his expression thoughtful.
Breakfast was silent and hurried. Phoebe didn’t have much of an appetite, and ended up pushing most of her food round and round her plate, staring moodily into the campfire.
“You need to eat,” Sebastian said, drawing her attention.
She wanted to argue, but knew he’d only stated what she already knew. She had a long day ahead of her, best to start it on a full tank, so to speak. Yet her mind was too full to worry about how her belly might feel in a few hours.
“I’m done,” she said as she stood up.
“Phoebe,” Sebastian growled, then clamped his lips tight and shook his head.
After scrapping her plate into the fire, she dropped it along with her fork into the plastic tub they used for washing. Then Phoebe went to check her pack. As she dug through zippers to make sure her tools and supplies were in place, she tried to focus on the dig, on new ground she hoped to cover today, and on what she hoped to find.
But all she could do was keep replaying that kiss. Over and over and over. Damn him.
Angry at herself for letting him get to her like that, and flustered that he could when no one else ever had before, she pushed to her feet and looked to the sky. The first rays of morning had begun to paint the heavens in a masterpiece of colors.
“Let’s shake a leg,” she snapped, not even trying to pretend to be cheerful any longer. “I want to head out in the next ten minutes.”
The look Ricardo shot her said she’d be explaining herself pretty damned soon if she didn’t settle down. So, taking a deep breath, Phoebe hiked the pack onto her shoulders and clicked the straps into place.
* * * * *
The trek had been long and rife with weighted silence. But once she was elbow deep in dirt and artifacts, Phoebe finally began to relax. Before long, she was humming, all thoughts of magical gifts and inescapable legacies happily pushed from her thoughts.
A hand on her shoulder startled her. She glanced up from where she was kneeling on a thick bed of large flat leaves—Sebastian’s creation to pad her knees from the damp ground. He’d come up with the idea when she’d refused to let him conjure a more comfortable cushion for her.
He offered her a cantina. “Water?”
She knew what he was asking, as he’d made the same offer several times already this morning. Iced tea. Gatorade. Lemonade. Anything she wanted. Anything at all. All she had to do was ask.
“Water’s just fine,” she said with a smile, accepting the canteen. “Thank you.”
She tipped the tin to her lips and drank deeply of the ice cold, sweet water. And she suffered another pang of guilt when she remembered how she’d snapped and growled at him on the hike here.
He’d only asked simple questions, like why they’d made camp so far from their dig site. She hadn’t needed to be so short with him when she’d explained their logic. How they’d had their camp overrun one night in the past and lost not only their supplies, but also all the artifacts they’d unearthed. And how it had been too dangerous to try to take the camp—and therefore the dig site—back. He’d fallen silent then, limiting his questions to inquiries about her physical needs. Was she thirsty? Hungry? Did she need a break? All inquiries had been met with curt negative responses until he’d finally given up all together.
And so she was trying to be extra nice now.
He arched a brow, when she handed the canteen back. “Are you hungry? You hardly ate anything this morning.”
“Not yet.”
He didn’t like that answer. She could see it in his eyes but, to his credit, he withheld any further comment as he turned away.
“Sebastian, wait.”
He peered down at her, his expression guarded.
She’d been out of line earlier—all morning really—and she knew it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so crabby with you today.”
He considered her in silence, then nodded acceptance. “Give me some tools, show me what to do. I’m bored out of my freakin’ mind.”
She sat back on her heels. “I thought you were only along for security?”
“Trust me,” he said, leering down at her now. “I’ve only ever lost focus on my surroundings once in my life…in my entire life. And since I don’t think you intend to let me make love to you with an audience”—he shot a glance across the way toward Ricardo—“I think I can handle digging in the dirt and still manage to keep you safe.”
Her cheeks flamed. Clearing her throat, she stood and brushed her knees off. After rummaging in her pack, she came up with a backup set of tools. She brought the items to Sebastian. Kneeling beside him, she began instructing him on what to do. She was more than pleased to note he was a careful, adept student.
Once she was satisfied he’d be okay on his own, she gathered her tools and went to another location a short distance away that she’d had her eye on. The soothing noises of the tropical forest eased her into the zone. She lost track of time, lost touch with reality as she worked to unearth the corner of what appeared to be a rough, wooden box.
Frowning, she dug deeper, brushing away dirt and debris. This wasn’t an artifact. It wasn’t even all that old. Excitement flooded her. Oh, she’d seen this type of box before.
She began digging faster. “Sebastian!”
He was at her side in a heartbeat. “What? What’s wrong?”
She pulled the box free, held it up for his inspection as she brushed lingering dirt from the top. “Look!”
He frowned. “It’s a box.”
Phoebe was too caught up to be cautious
, and she blurted, “My dad made this. I’d recognize his handiwork anywhere.”
She immediately began prying at the top, only to let out a muffled curse as a tiny spike of wood punched through her skin. Gritting her teeth, she inspected the wound.
“Let me see.” Sebastian took her hand. “It doesn’t look like it went very deep, but we better clean it out. Just to be sure.”
She knew better than to argue. Out here, even a tiny cut like this risked a very serious infection. Before she could tell him where the first aid kit was located in her bag, he conjured a small white tin case.
“Sebastian,” she hissed, glancing over her shoulder. But Ricardo’s back was still turned to them as he continued to plug away at his own little plot.
“Shh,” Sebastian said, his attention on her thumb. “He’s not paying any attention, and Marco is still back at camp. There’s no one around to see but the monkeys, and they promised not to tell.”
Chagrined, Phoebe sat back and watched as Sebastian administered to the miniscule wound as though he were performing major surgery.
“There,” he said as he smoothed the last bit of white tape in place. “All better. Shall I kiss it too?”
“It wouldn’t hurt anything,” she said, taking them both by surprise.
His grin turned far too sensual for her comfort, and he pressed his lips to the tape, lingering, holding her captive with his steady stare. But he didn’t stop there. Slowly, deliberately, he moved to the tip of the next finger, and then the next. One after another. Brushing each tip clean, and then kissing each one in turn. And then he moved his attention to the sensitive skin of her palm, working his way to her wrist. Like he had all the time in the world and intended to spend every second of it turning her bones to jelly.
And then, somehow, his mouth was on hers. A lazy, erotic glide of tongue, a caress of lips. On and on it went. He’d just eased his hand up to cup her jaw when Ricardo cleared his throat behind them. Loudly.
Breaking apart, they both glanced up to see Ricardo standing there, a small trowel in one hand, the other fist perched on his hip. His expression was impassive.
“If you two are about done, I found something.”
“What!” Her face lit up. “Where?”
Sebastian stood, offered a hand and helped Phoebe to her feet. She tucked the box beneath her arm, thanked him absently, and nearly ran to the area where Ricardo had been working, their kiss apparently forgotten already. Which chaffed, considering it had affected him so strongly he hadn’t even heard the old guide approach.
Not good, dude. N. O. T. Good.
He made to follow her, but Ricardo stepped into his path. Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the man.
Ricardo didn’t back down. A part of Sebastian admired the way the smaller man lifted his chin and demanded, “I want to know what your intentions are toward Phoebe.”
That gave Sebastian pause. He felt like a potential date being drilled by a girl’s father. All that was missing was the double barrel shotgun. Sebastian eyed Ricardo.
“I have only honorable intentions.” He refused to elaborate, regardless of whatever admiration he may or may not feel. What was happening between Phoebe and him was their business.
“I know you are not engaged,” the guide replied, his bushy brows drawn tight. “I know Phoebe. She would have told me before she just showed up with you.”
Now they were getting into sticky territory. Sebastian debated how much to tell the old man. He knew Phoebe held Ricardo in high regard. Had seen the way the old man behaved with her. They were as close as family. As such, he didn’t want to completely alienate the man either.
Ricardo solved the problem for him. “I know what you are.”
What, not who.
Sebastian went very still. And he waited.
“You think me foolish? You think I’m some superstitious old man, like the rest? But I know the truth.” Ricardo stood firm, showing no fear. “You are a demon. A real demon.”
Sebastian tensed, his mind racing.
“But you are not like the others, the demons that came after her before. The ones that cut her throat,” Ricardo said. That pronouncement drew Sebastian up short.
The man had looked after Phoebe, taken care of her, saved her life. Sebastian was grateful. He owed this man much. And so he repaid that gratitude with honesty.
“I am demon. But I am penitent,” he said at last. “I have broken with Lucifer and his ways. I seek redemption by sending others of my kind, those that would harm the innocent to Oblivion. I seek forgiveness.”
Ricardo regarded him in solemn silence. At length, he nodded, apparently satisfied. “You are like her.”
Now Sebastian frowned, all his protective instincts firing. “Like her?”
How much did Ricardo know? Could what he knew put Phoebe at risk? The thought of eliminating the old man didn’t sit well. Sebastian hadn’t taken an innocent life in nearly two hundred years, and Phoebe would suffer guilt and grief at his loss. But Sebastian would do it. To protect Phoebe, he’d do it.
“I knew her father.” Ricardo paused, giving Sebastian a pointed look. “And I knew her mother, knew what her mother was. Your heart is good, like Phoebe’s. Like her mother’s.”
Sebastian reeled at this new information. Not once had he ever considered Ricardo might have knowledge of Phoebe’s mother.
Something of his surprise must have shown on his face, because Ricardo went on, explaining, “My people believe in your kind. In demons and in angels. We know evil roams the Earth. Just as good does. But you…you are different. As was Danika. As is Phoebe.”
“So you know what she is?” he asked cautiously.
Ricardo looked puzzled. “Yes.”
“But you still treat her like a daughter?”
“Of course.” Ricardo nodded. “Because she is like a daughter to me.”
“Did her father know what she was, what her mother was?”
“Yes.” Sadness crossed those wrinkled features. “He knew. And he figured out that I knew…and he swore me to secrecy.” He shrugged.
Ricardo turned to watch Phoebe. Her back was turned to them. She was on her knees industriously clearing away vegetation near the base of what appeared to be a short monument.
“I met Danika, Phoebe’s mother, many years before Phoebe was born. She was already married to Raymond Mackenzie. I thought she was human. Years later, when Phoebe was a small child, there was an accident at one of the sites. Danika revealed herself to save Phoebe’s life, and in doing so, she unintentionally revealed the truth of who she was. She also weakened the spell she’d used to dampen her abilities. Some kind of magic to mask her from others of her kind, she claimed. She swore me to silence, and told me the spell was to hide her and Phoebe from other demons that might be looking for her. She said she would die if she were ever found, that she’d be forced to go back to Hell, and so would Phoebe. That they’d be forced to go back as prisoners. As slaves.”
Sebastian frowned. He’d never heard of such a spell before, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible.
Now that name on the other hand, Danika…
And the circumstances the woman had related. An unshakable chill skated down Sebastian’s back. He felt sick to his stomach. Was it possible? He prayed not. Oh, how he prayed not.
“They left to go back to the states soon after. I never saw Danika again after that summer. And Raymond refused to speak of her. Phoebe was so young the first time Raymond brought her back, after her mother had gone. Too young to be out here in the jungle, but there was no one left to care for her.” Ricardo stopped then, his expression sorrowful. He took his hat off, swiped a forearm across his brow and resettled the hat.
“Danika was a kind woman. And she loved that child something fierce. But Phoebe still blames her mother for leaving. Raymond Mackenzie is the only parent she remember
s. Danika leaving like that left a hole in Phoebe’s world. She’s careful not to talk about it, but the girl’s never recovered from it. And she worked so hard to fashion herself into what she believed Raymond would approve of.”
“Phoebe loves you too,” Sebastian said, dead certain.
A tender smile eased the old man’s frown. “I know.” But then that smile fell away. “If you are her mate, as I suspect, then you have to watch over her.”
“What do you know of demon mates?” Sebastian watched the old man, suspicious now.
“I know only what Danika told me. That last summer, after I learned what she was, Danika confided in me, telling me about her world. I don’t know why for sure. Perhaps it was because she knew Raymond would never pass the information on to Phoebe should something happen to Danika? Who is to say?”
The old man paused a moment, stroking his hand along the gray whiskers covering his jaw. Sensing there was more, Sebastian waited in silence.
“I believe maybe it was because she was lonely. She loved her husband, and Raymond loved her. But, for some reason, he could never talk to her about what she was. She understood his fear, and his mistrust of her species. It hurt her, but she understood. I never did though. If a man loves his wife, he ought to love all of her. And, despite the fact that she was what she was, she was still a good woman, a loving wife and mother,” Ricardo grumbled, clearly perplexed.
So Raymond had loved her, loved her but couldn’t forgive her for being what she was? But he’d also been a Guardian, taught from birth to hate demons. Ricardo wouldn’t have known that. Sebastian didn’t even want to speculate over the fine moral line that Phoebe’s father must have walked daily. To provide safe haven for the enemy. To never fully trust the woman you loved. To cherish and raise a child of that union. To raise a Spawnling to be the future Guardian.
Sebastian looked at the older man, letting him see the truth of his words. “Phoebe is my mate,” he confirmed. “And I will guard her with my life.”
A look of profound relief crossed the old guide’s face. “Protect her from herself. She would die for those she loves. She nearly died to save me—that’s how she got the scar on her neck. She would have given herself up to spare me.”