The Apocalypse Five (Archive of the Five Book 1)

by Stacey Rourke

  With that stark sentiment, Detroit felt she was getting her first glimpse at the heart of the kill-shot soldier. She may have his battle strategies memorized, but this was a side of him she had yet to meet.

  Noticing the shivers he was struggling to suppress, she moved to the back of the spring and welcomed him in with a curl of her finger. “There’s nothing forced about this. You’re cold. The water is warm. Amazingly so. Trust me, you will hate yourself if you miss out on this.”

  “You sure?” While rooted where he stood, there was a storm of desire brewing in Houston’s stare that made the breath catch in Detroit’s throat.

  Struck by the intensity carved into his features, bobbing her head was the closest thing to a response Detroit could muster.

  Turning his back yet again, he peeled off his frost-covered flight suit. Detroit tried not to notice the muscles that rippled over his back. Or, how his boxer briefs hugged his thighs, cradled the rise of his tight little butt.

  Her lips pursed, the team leader expelled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Mentally, she berated herself for eyeing him like a steak dinner. “There’s fresh water in the canteen if you want some.”

  Raven curls exploding around his face in an inviting disarray, Houston located the water with a glance, then gifted her with a warm smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Thanks.”

  Unsure where to look, Detroit focused on the torches, then the ridged auburn wall, before settling on her hands beneath the churning waters.

  Oblivious to her awkward struggle, Houston edged toward the spring. The sudden assault of heightened temperatures caused his arms to lock tight to his sides. Hands balling into fists, lingering chills shuddered through him. “Seems my body just remembered it’s cold,” he chuckled through chattering teeth.

  “It gets better once you thaw out a little, I promise.” Her gaze traveled over him for a moment, noticing the chiseled cut of his abs as they drifted down to the deep V of his hips.

  Houston sunk in up to the swell of his pecs, and emitted an appreciative groan. Head falling back against the edge, he let his eyes close until the chills died down. The pair lapsed into a comfortable silence, the sides of their knees brushing beneath the moving waters.

  The moment was so still—so intimate between them—Detroit felt the need to inject the rolls they played if only as a reminder to herself. “How are you coping? The new self-affirmed vow and all?”

  This time, Houston’s chill had nothing to do with body temperature. Eyes popping open, he pushed himself to a more upright position. “I think it’s for the best, all things considered. I don’t want to take another innocent life, even on an off chance. The next time my hand closes around a grip, the barrel will be aimed at someone truly deserving. If not then, never.”

  Detroit scooted to the edge of the makeshift seat within the spring, wishing she could tear out a piece of her own heart if only to heal his. “You can’t blame yourself. You had no way to know. None of us did.”

  Brows lifting, Houston peered back at her with a look of raw honesty. “I can blame myself, and I probably always will. I could have trusted my own eyes, and questioned what I saw. But, I didn’t. Because they train us not to ask questions. Don’t think. Act. Rely on your training and your team above all else. As kids we weren’t given toys to play with. Instead, we were handed guns. We learned a proper take down, but not the comforts of a hug or touch. If nothing else comes of any of this, I want to prevent other kids from growing up the way we did. No child deserves that. I mean, hell, maybe my real family is among the Floaters. You could be a Cave Dweller by blood. We have no way of—”

  Detroit pressed one finger to his lips.

  So many sentiments flooded her mind, meaningless words that could never soothe the festering wounds of his pain. Wetting her lips, she dropped her hand to his arm. Her fingertips brushed his elbow, wandering up his arm until she could weave him into a solid hug.

  Heart pounding against his ribs, Houston didn’t respond immediately, even though the very blood in his veins sang out for the contact. Slowly, he sank into her embrace, finding it more soothing than any hot spring could ever hope to be. Twined in each other’s arms, they stayed there long enough for their drumming pulses to sync.

  Detroit pulled back enough to brush Houston’s cheek with hers, and breathed against his ear, “There are some things you don’t have to be taught.” Her tone wasn’t a bold one, but held the innocent appreciation of their tender touch.

  Drawing his head back, the tip of Houston’s nose teased the side of hers. Their lips tingled with awareness of the veil of space that separated them. Peering into each other’s eyes, they asked the unspoken question. Detroit’s lips parted in submission to the burning desire scorching through her.

  Sweetly suffering with the ache of his own building desire, Houston pulled back. He un-wove her hands from around his neck, held them in his, and dotted a kiss to each. “When we do this, it’s not going to be rushed in between stops or life threatening missions. It’s going to be slow, and sensual enough for us to revel in every moment. And,” one side of his mouth tugging back in a grin, his gaze flicked to the entrance to the grotto, “there will be a door.”

  Laughter shaking her shoulders, Detroit’s chin fell to her chest. She filled her lungs with a steadying breath, and exhaled her way to a clearer head. Pushing back, she regretfully moved back to her seat, all the while keeping her flirtatious stare fixed on him. “When, huh? Not if? Aren’t you the hopefully optimistic one.”

  He bit his lower lip, tossing her a wicked smile that awoke a swarm of butterflies in her belly. “Planning on playing hard to get again?”

  “I was actually referring to us making it out of this alive, but I might,” Detroit lied. Folding her arms behind her head, she leaned her head back against the edge of the spring, seeming oblivious to the sprays of water bubbling over her cleavage.

  Pupils dilating into black pools of longing, Houston’s smile faded along with any reservations he may have had about their exposed location. He pushed off the wall, his lone goal removing the pesky distance between them. That plan was knocked askew by Auggie’s face appearing in the doorway.

  “Hey! You guys are not going to want to miss this! They’re—” Picking up on the distinct feeling he had interrupted something, Augusta’s face split in a knowing grin. “Whatcha guys doin’?”

  Houston’s back scraped against rock in his rapid retreat, and he did his best to feign neutrality. “Nothing. Warming up.”

  “Warming up for what?” Auggie gleefully taunted, wiggling his eyebrows.

  Clearing her throat, Detroit combed her fingers through her wet hair. “What’s going on, Auggie? What don’t we want to miss?”

  “Right!” Auggie’s hand smacked against the curved rock entrance, as if just remembering what brought him there. “The Dwellers are performing some sort of blessing of the day. The entire spectacle would make the poshest AT-1-NS family swoon. Come on.” Pausing, his gaze shifted to the pile of clothes neatly stacked in the corner. “I mean, if you’re done with the skin-on-skin therapy, throw some pants on and let’s go.”

  Detroit started to stand, only to notice how see-through her under garments were when wet. Sinking back into the water, she dragged her tongue over her top teeth. “Uh, would you both mind not looking? Turns out, I am capable of a little modesty.”

  “Better than that, I’ll meet you at the heart of the mountain. Follow the sound of the drum beat,” Augusta instructed, playing air bongos as he jogged off.

  Long lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, Houston peered up at her. His lips parted. To say what? He didn’t know. The only thing he was certain of, was that their stolen moment was coming to an end, and they’d left so much unsaid. Unwilling, or unprepared, to rush the sentiments of his heart, he clamped his mouth shut around them and closed his eyes as she requested.

  Water sloshed, droplets raining down over her curves, and Detroit stepped from th
e spring. Houston felt her absence like a punch to the gut, a physical ache at an opportunity wasted. Keeping his eyes shut, he played the scene again in his mind, this time not letting things like vulnerability holding him back.

  “I’m done,” Detroit interrupted his daydream.

  Eyes snapping open, Houston’s head swiveled in her direction. The skin tight lycra he was used to seeing her in had been replaced by loose fitting beige pants, and a tawny shirt knotted at her waist. The warrior was still there, hidden beneath the surface. Yet, as Houston gazed upon the girl with a smattering of freckles dotting the apples of her cheeks, he wondered if this could have been her home had fate not intervened. One possible outcome of a girl riding the winds of destiny.

  Tucking her hair behind her ears, Detroit drifted toward the door. “I guess I could go …”

  “No.” Houston rose out of the water, his arms at his sides. Biting the inside of his cheek, he reveled in her gaze wandering over him with visible appreciation. “We can walk together. Hand me a towel?”

  Cheeks blooming to the bright pink of daybreak, Detroit scooped up the towel while trying to remember how to accomplish some sort of neutral facial expression. She closed the gap between them, and offered it to him, enjoying the exquisite tingle of his skin brushing hers with the delicate encounter. Houston caught the towel, and tugged her closer still.

  Damp chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, he curled his finger under her chin and tipped her face to his.

  Detroit’s breath teased over his cheeks in hypnotic waves, urging the words she longed to hear from his lips.

  A victim of the millions of jumbled thoughts swirling through his mind, Houston found himself unable to pluck one worthy of her.

  Stumped by his silence, Detroit pulled back, her hand slowly sliding away from his. “We need to hurry. Reno will want to get moving as soon as we’ve eaten.”

  Tugging on his shirt, Houston cursed under his breath. If he wanted the perfect opportunity to tell her what she meant to him, that was it. And, he let it slip right through his fingers.

  Chapter 21

  From inside of the catacombs, it was nearly impossible to tell the time of day. Sunlight couldn’t filter in through those thick stone walls, making the ever burning torches a necessity. Be that as it may, the caves sparked with energy and optimism. Every face the A-5 passed beamed with warm welcome. It only took two turns into their journey toward the center of the mountain for them to hear the steady thumping Auggie playfully pantomimed. It beat in a joyful call to gather, causing a pulse of life and fellowship to flow through every cave and tunnel.

  At the core of it all, was the heart. A capacious cavern alive with activity. In the center of the great hall, various meats roasted on a spit over a crackling fire. On carved stone pedestals around that a bountiful feast was spread for all to enjoy. Vegetables, fruit, breads, and nuts were splayed out for the nourishment of the clan. Off to the side, drummers swayed to the music while pounding out a jubilant melody. Dancers moved around them, throwing their bodies up, down, and all around in an exuberant celebration that couldn’t be tamed.

  Inching around Leif and Remi, Detroit rubbed a delicate hand over the stop of Adalyn’s head, only to be greeted by merry spit bubbles in return. So engrossed was the team leader in the fluidity of the dancers, she could barely tear her eyes off them as she ventured farther in to fill her clay plate. Taking a cross-legged seat on the floor among the other feasting Cave Dwellers, she bobbed along to the beat thumping through her.

  “Did you see Auggie out there?” Houston asked, easing down beside her.

  Pinching a strip of bacon between her fingers, Detroit nodded and treated herself to a bite. “Hard to miss him,” she chuckled around the mouthful.

  Clustered by the other dancers, Auggie threw his body into random motions. Arms flying, he kicked out his legs as he spun in free form twirls. The smile beaming from his face radiated his inner light for all to see.

  Their earlier conversation still fresh in her mind, Detroit bumped Houston’s shoulder with hers. “You said I could be a Cave Dweller? No way. It’s Auggie all the way. Back on the starship he was all animosity and venom. Here, even though we’ve found ourselves in a world of crap, he managed to set himself free. He just needed to shake off the conformity forcing him down a path of self-destruction.”

  “I’m probably a Floater,” Houston mused, gnawing on a skewer of chicken. “Stay out of the drama at all cost. Unless, said drama involved this chicken. I’m fairly certain I would go to war for more of this. How do they season it? It’s incredible!”

  “Probably by feeding it natural seeds and grain, and not processed chemicals just to fatten it up.” Reaching over, Detroit stole a hunk of it off his plate.

  “So, what do you think you are? If you had to guess?” Willing to swap food for food, Houston treated himself to a piece of her bacon.

  “I’m an Air Walker, for sure.” She nodded, sucking the chicken juice from her fingertips. “I mean, did you see that reverend? Her cool aloofness and belittling tone? I wanted her to adopt me and question my every decision.”

  Laughing, Houston chomping down on a grape. “That’s the dream.”

  Nowhere near ready to join them on their fictional journey of self-discovery, Reno’s boot poked Houston’s hip.

  “We eat, then we move.” He shook the handful of almonds in his fist before tossing a couple in his mouth. Casting an accusatory glare in Auggie’s direction, judgment dripped from his tone. “Those that can’t tear themselves from the festivities can stay behind.” Leaving his disclaimer hovering in the air, like a dangling dagger, the heartsick twin moved toward the exit in anticipation of their departure.

  “Air Walker, for sure,” Houston and Detroit said in unison, and erupted in a fit of giggles.

  Suffering a wave of guilt at the anxious hunch of Reno’s shoulders, the laughter died on Detroit’s lips. “We need to eat fast. I have no doubt he’ll leave without us.”

  The pair were silently working their way through their platefuls, when Morgan entered the heart of the mountain with his arms thrown out wide in grand spectacle. The dancers stilled. Conversation faded. Drums quieted to background music, allowing all attention to swivel toward their charismatic leader.

  “Cousins,” Morgan boomed, “we have been granted a new day! Let us give thanks!”

  An uproarious cheer rose from the crowd, and the festivities launched to a frenzied new peak. The drum cadence lifted, launching the dancers into movements of choreographed poetry. Augusta attempted to bow out of the fray, only to be encouraged by the others to stay. Keeping an eye on him, they guided him through the motions.

  Morgan worked his way through the crowd, accepting greetings and gifts from all he passed. A heaping plate of food. Blessings for a prosperous day. A full stein of fresh squeezed juice. Whatever they could bestow on him, be it only a kind word, was offered up with a grateful heart. Passing Adalyn, nestled in her mother’s arms, the leader of the Cave Dwellers dipped his head in a show of respect. Greetings given and received, Morgan sat down beside Houston and bobbed his head in a nod of acknowledgement to the dancers.

  Wiping the juice from fresh strawberries on his pants—an act that would be scoffed at by his Undertaker—Houston turned to Morgan with a face full of gratitude. “Thank you for welcoming us into your home. I know times have been hard for everyone as of late. We don’t take you sharing your resources with us lightly.”

  “We are blessed with a bounty only to share it with others.” Morgan’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he studied the movements of the dancers as if seeing the story they told for the very first time. “That is how we repay Mother Mountain’s kindness. This particular dance symbolizes that very thing. See how their arms arch over their heads? That is thanking Her for providing us shelter. The sharp kicks of their feet are the flames of the fire that burns for our warmth and protection. Now, the roll of their fingers lifts their hands skyward in honor of the plants that g
row on the face of the mountain. Can you guess what the churning hips represent?”

  “All of my answers are going to be dirty,” Houston admitted, treating himself to the last of his chicken.

  Detroit delivered a sharp elbow to Houston’s ribs. “The water?” she guessed.

  “Very good, cousin! That’s correct. Through water we draw power, life, and warmth.” Morgan’s braids bobbed in his enthusiastic nod. “See how they hunch their bodies? These are the animals drawn to the fresh mountain springs, that we hunt for our nourishment. We are gifted all of this by living our lives in a way that honors Mother Mountain. She does not want us to horde her blessings, and send others away. All are welcome, and all are allowed to look upon her beauty and celebrate her splendor.”

  “Still,” setting his plate down in front of him, Houston rubbed his hands together to shake off the crumbs, “you know the risk you took allowing us to come here. We owe our thanks to you for that.”

  For a moment, Morgan’s joyous state was shadowed by dark clouds of the past. “I will never forget the face of the sweet baby girl my wife and I handed over to the men of the Fortress, thinking we were doing what was right by her. Her soft skin was the color of melted caramel. Tight little pin curls decorated her head like a cap. She had her mother’s pink lips, and my eyes.” Chin falling to his chest, his jaw tensed. “She was such a strong baby. We were confident that she would sail through the inoculation process without difficulty, and be returned to us in no time. Back then, they still held on to fictitious promise. Of course, that day … would never come. Unable to handle the loss, my wife took her own life. She scaled the highest peak of Mother Mountain, and tried to soar out above the pain.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Houston muttered, hating how weak the words sounded in the face of such real pain.