The Serpent in the Stone (The Gifted Series)

by Nicki Greenwood

  His words hit her like a spray of bullets. She cringed in the chair. “Stop, stop! How are you seeing all this?”

  “Tell me again how it isn’t my problem.”

  She hugged herself and whispered, “He never comes to me or Faith.”

  “I guess I’m just lucky.”

  Wounded, she stared at him.

  Regret flashed across his features. “Sara, you don’t want to see him. Not like this.” He looked back down, wiping the small parts of the rifle and piecing them back together. “Anyway, I’m not leaving. Not unless you do. Don’t ask me why he picked me, because I don’t know.”

  “We can’t leave. Faith and I found something out about this amulet. It’s connected somehow with a druid ceremony that manipulated the ley lines. The order that used it... We think they were like us.”

  Ian looked up. “Like you? With the floating objects and shapeshifting?”

  “Yes. Except this druid order, if they really were a druid order, was able to control the ley lines and use their power. Faith said it would be like having possession of an atomic bomb.”

  “And you want me to leave without you?”

  “We found a skull at the dig, from a Viking who killed one of the druids.” Her body screamed for motion. She lunged upright to pace back and forth. “Faith read the skull, and she found his ghost, and he wants us to stay here. Something about the next full moon and a sword, and he’s guarding her, and I came up here to see you because I’m worried that something is going to happen to you—”

  Ian set his rifle aside and stood up. He caught her in his arms. “Now you know how I feel. Don’t you think I’d go out of my mind with worry if I left?”

  She shook her head violently. “I don’t want you staying here because of some dream—”

  “It’s not just about that! Are you blind? I—”

  She gaped. Had he just meant to say...?

  Ian looked away, but not before she saw the torment in his eyes. He circled like an angry wolf, twice around the tent, then he gripped her shoulders and gave her an angry shake. “I’ve wanted you almost from the minute you got here, and I can’t even explain why. Then I find out what you are, and I have no idea what I’m doing, feeling the way I am, because my father was killed by one of you—” He broke off and lunged away, raking both hands through his hair.

  Old pain tore through her, suddenly fresh again. “Freaks? Is that what you were going to say?”

  He glanced back, then away, hunching his shoulders. “I didn’t mean...”

  “No, you did!” She shot across the tent to stare him down toe-to-toe. “Say it. Get it out. I want to hear you say it!”

  He gave her a desperate look. “You have no idea what this is like. I was ten years old, and I saw my father murdered, by a man who—who could—”

  “Do what I do? Telekinesis? Shapeshifting? Mind-reading?” She flung the words at him, seething when he flinched. “Do I look like a murderer, Ian? Does having this power make me a monster?” She shuddered. “I didn’t ask for it.”

  He sighed explosively. “Jesus, Sara. You don’t... I can’t...” He turned his back on her. “I’ve been making myself crazy ever since I got here, knowing what you are.”

  “Then why did you come? You can’t stand what I am unless it helps you with your goddamned research, is that it? Is that all this was? You’re using me? And to think I came up here to warn you.” She wheeled toward the tent door.

  He spun back and caught her by the wrist. Writhing with ferocity, she tried yanking it away, but he held fast.

  His expression shifted; she saw him fighting with himself. The pulse pounded in his throat. “Don’t go.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sara glanced at the door, hovering like a wild creature on the razor edge of fight or flight. Idiot, he cursed himself. You’ve screwed this all up from the first second you opened your mouth. The hurt in her eyes knifed him.

  Once more she moved to leave, and his entire being railed against it. He lunged forward and kissed her.

  She gave a muffled sob and pounded his chest with both fists. Her cry resounded in every nerve of his body and tore at him. She tried to wrench away. When he didn’t release her, she hid her face in his shirt and gave another thin cry, thumping his chest again. He held her hard against him.

  Little by little, her trembling subsided. Her tears dampened his shirt. He pressed his face into her hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Please believe that.”

  She turned her face up to him at last. The hurt pride cleared from her features. In its place came a cool wariness that cut him worse than her tears had done.

  She’d closed herself off...gone where he couldn’t follow. And he never would have believed it, but that pained him still more.

  She wiped moisture off her cheeks, then pushed out of his grasp. “You want what you can get out of me, like everyone else who would turn me and Faith into lab rats if they knew about us.”

  He spread his hands. “Sara, I have told no one. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Oh?”

  He saw it in her eyes; she expected a fight. Probably even welcomed it, because then he could leave her, and she’d be just as alone as she’d looked in that tavern on the mainland.

  Oh, no. Not this time. Not when his insides were roaring at how she pulled away.

  He stroked her hair. She remained immobile, unresponsive.

  Distrustful.

  “What’s it gonna take, Sara?” he whispered, stepping back toward her. Gently, he kissed her again. He slid his arms around her, telling her with his body what he couldn’t say, and what he knew she wouldn’t accept.

  She lit like a dynamite fuse, seizing his shirt in both fists. But she would have none of the slow, soft caresses. She dragged at his shirt, demanding fire.

  And, God help him, he gave it.

  When she took his lip between her teeth, his body ignited. He swept her mouth with his tongue, drinking in the taste of her. He couldn’t pull her close enough. She pressed against him along the entire length of their bodies, and still she was too far away. She gasped against his mouth as his searching hands reached the soft skin under her shirt.

  Christ, she burned.

  He broke the kiss long enough to pull his shirt off and throw it on the floor. Her hands explored the muscles of his back. Blood boiling, he reached between them to undo the first button of her shirt, and placed a kiss there. She made a low sound, and the skin of her throat vibrated under his lips. The earthy scent of her flooded his senses.

  Another button, another kiss. Her fingernails dug into his back. He fought to keep from tearing her shirt open to get to the rest of her. With painstaking slowness, he undid the remaining buttons and drew the shirt off her shoulder, planting still more kisses on her satiny skin.

  She straightened her arms. Her shirt fell to the floor. Her hazel eyes glowed in the lantern light. Separated from him only by her bra and pants, she was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her in any form.

  His control slipped. He molded his hands to her and she arched against him, her body molten with desire, but her eyes...

  Cold as gemstones.

  No, he thought fiercely. Answer me. Answer this. He reached up to grapple with the hooks of her bra and it fell away, leaving her bare under his hands. When he cupped her breast, skin to heated skin, she moaned and pressed closer.

  With an inward hiss of triumph, he crushed his body against her, reveling in the feel of her skin on his. He urged her to the cot with fervent kisses. She went, willing under his touch. He lay beside her and drew his fingertips along a taut nipple, teasing it with his thumb.

  She inhaled, sharp and surprised. Ian lowered his head and took the nipple in his mouth, drawing hard on it, grazing the edges with his teeth. She whimpered, and he wrestled for restraint. He pushed aside the amulet at her throat to touch his lips to the hollow between her breasts. Her heartbeat thudded against his mouth. When her nails grazed the ski
n of his back, he sucked in a breath and looked up at her. “Are you sure you want this?”

  She answered by cupping the back of his head and drawing him down to her. He kissed her again, groaning when her tongue swept into his mouth to imitate the strokes he made with his own. His erection strained against his pants. Ian broke away and took another breath, trying to cool his raging blood. Slow down, he told himself.

  Hell, no, demanded another, more primal part of him. He wanted all of her. Here, now, before another second went by. He stroked the burning skin of her belly and she sighed, lifting her chin. He bent his head to her throat and savored her with gentle nips. Her nails dug into his shoulders.

  Ian blasted apart. With a possessive snarl, he unzipped her pants and almost tore them off. He stretched out over her with triumph scorching through his body. The feel of her skin, hot and satin-smooth, tore another snarl from him.

  Sara dug her nails into his skin again, pinning him there, though he’d have died before leaving her. Naked, she lay beneath him, watching him with eyes that blazed now with the need echoing in her body. Ian memorized every curve and hollow, then swept his hands along each contour, lingering with kiss and touch.

  He stroked a hand along one slender thigh to the curls between her legs and found her center hot and moist. When he slid a finger into her, she moaned. His thumb found the sensitive bud between her folds, and he stroked her. She arched off the cot with a soft cry. “Ian!”

  He drank in her reaction to his touch with ferocious greed. His senses reeled with the sweet musk of her arousal. Every time she gasped, his tenuous control unraveled faster.

  Her fingertips brushed along the top of his pants. His belly clenched. He felt her reach for the button and realized she was following his example. She wrestled, and he closed his hands over hers to help her. He pushed his pants off and lay naked beside her, letting her look at him, hardly able to keep his patience when his entire body ached to be touching her.

  She gave him the same thorough appraisal he’d given her, then glanced up at him. At last he saw her come back from that distant place—no longer unreachable, but somehow both intense and shy. He reined in his need and took her hand, pressing it to his chest. “Touch me.”

  She did. Her hands swept along his skin, searing him wherever they landed. He trembled under her questing fingers as he’d never done with any other woman. Her hands closed around his rigid manhood, stroking feather-light along its length. “Sara,” he ground out, teetering on the brink.

  “Now,” she whispered. “Now, Ian, please.”

  The rest of his self-control shattered. She urged him down and opened herself to him. He pressed his hips into hers, and eased home in a long, slow, blissful stroke.

  And then she was his. Completely, finally. No more secrets. No painful pasts. Only the two of them, here at this moment with the rest of the world far away. Mine, repeated his primal self.

  She arched underneath him, urging him still deeper. He cupped the back of her head in one hand and slid the other along the length of her body. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “So incredibly beautiful.”

  Her gaze found his again, glowing with passion. She kissed him, pulling him into her, gripping him harder with each stroke. Her breath came faster in his ear. A moan caught in her throat and drove him higher. Every nerve sang where she touched him. Her breath, her skin, her heat, the very smell of her struck him like a storm to a lightning rod.

  She gasped out his name, and her body arched like a drawn bow. An electric hum seized him and burned along his spine. He buried his face in her hair and swept over the edge with a groan. The charge reverberated back up his spine, then faded.

  ****

  Sara’s skin resonated with liquid flame. Yes, her body echoed, as if it had known all along that this moment was inevitable. This time, this place. Him.

  Ian’s breath rasped in her ear. She drew her hands up his back, tracing her fingers along the sweat-slick skin.

  He was shaking. So was she. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  He arched onto his elbow, still panting. “Your eyes are green. What did you just do?”

  Her powers. “Oh, God, Ian, I’m sorry.”

  He cupped her face and shushed her with a kiss. “No, don’t be sorry. Don’t be,” he urged, then kissed her again. “I’m fine.” He withdrew and rolled onto his back, curling an arm underneath her to pull her close again. He kissed her hair.

  She let her hand hover a second before settling it on his chest, then she huddled in the hollow of his arm. “I think I might have let go of my power. I didn’t mean to.”

  Ian rocked onto his elbow. “Is that what that was?”

  “I think so.” Her face burned with guilt.

  He flopped back down and grinned, scraping a hand through his sweaty hair. “Jesus. Do that whenever you want.”

  “Are you sure I didn’t—”

  He rolled on top of her. “Whenever. You. Want,” he repeated, punctuating the words with kisses. “You didn’t hurt me. In fact, you adamantly didn’t hurt me.”

  Another blushing wave heated her cheeks and she smiled, somehow shy after what they’d just done. It had never been like that before. But there was no before, now. No after. Just Ian, here in her arms.

  She must have been staring, because he chuckled and stroked her cheek with his thumb. He rolled to his back once more, and slipped an arm around her. One-handed, he reached up and put the lantern out.

  Sara laid her head against his chest. She drew a long sigh, and he pulled her close against him. His hands stroked her cooling skin, warm and rough and pleasant. He pressed his lips to her hair. And for the first time in twenty years, she felt at peace with herself.

  ****

  Against her will, Sara’s eyes fluttered open. The gray of pre-dawn had stolen into Ian’s tent, shattering the veneer of sanctuary in which she had slept. She wanted to go back to it. Back to believing she could shut the world out and lie there in his embrace. Reluctant, she shifted toward the edge of the cot.

  Ian’s arm tightened around her. “Not yet.”

  She burrowed into the warm hollow of his arm and stretched her own across his belly. “They’ll be up soon.”

  “I know.” He rubbed her back. “How did you get up here last night without them knowing?”

  “The wolf,” she answered, tracing her fingers through the dusting of hair on his chest. “It’s faster and quieter, and I can see better in the dark.”

  They lay still for a few minutes more while the traitorous light increased.

  “So, with the shapeshifting,” he said at last.

  She tensed, wondering for a moment whether he would bring up her accusation that he was using her.

  He shook under her fingertips, and she realized he was holding in laughter. “This has been killing me. How do you do that with clothes on?”

  Startled into giggles, herself, she answered, “I don’t know. I’ve always been able to do it either way. Whatever I’m wearing just becomes part of the change. It’s all matter.”

  He laughed now, and it rumbled against her cheek. “I guess I thought it would be more like in the comics, with shredding clothes and stuff.”

  At that, she lifted her chin and smiled at him. “God, no. I’d have to buy a new wardrobe every other week.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. Walk around naked.”

  She groaned in mock outrage and pushed up onto her hands.

  He reached up to stroke the back of her neck. His eyes clouded with regret. “I am sorry, Sara.” His hand slid from under her hair, and he touched the amulet swaying between her breasts. “Be careful down there today, okay?”

  Uncomfortable, she turned from his gaze. A look like that was too dangerous to contemplate. She’d offered him her body last night, and he’d taken it without hesitation. She didn’t dare hope there might be more to it.

  You are a freak. Face it. She shoved into a sitting position. “If it gets much lighter, they’ll see me coming b
ack.” She reached for her clothing and pulled it on. “You be careful, too.”

  Ian swung his legs over the edge of the bed and scooped his jeans off the floor. She paused to admire his naked body and the way the light trailed across his skin. The same way her hands had done the night before.

  He caught her looking and grinned.

  She flushed and went back to dressing. She’d meant their night together to be a one-time thing, a way of proving to herself that something of her truly mattered to him...but oh, she wished they had just a few more hours.

  Last night hadn’t been enough.

  They stood up together, and he gave her a gentle kiss. She leaned into him, breathing him in, fearing she’d never have another chance.

  “I’ll see you later,” he murmured. With a last caress, he released her and went to the door to open it.

  She called on the wolf. As soon as she slipped into its body, she sprang out the door and loped away.

  The journey back to camp didn’t take long in her lupine shape. With all her senses alert, she crept around the back of her tent. She heard movement in some of the other tents; she’d gotten back just in time. Making sure no one saw, she shapeshifted back into human form and rounded the tent, then ducked inside.

  The interior looked undisturbed. As she saw the profusion of beer bottles on the table, Cameron’s image punched into her mind, blatant shock in his expression. What good were her gifts if they couldn’t save him? Cam hadn’t had a chance to live. How could he die so young?

  She forced away the guilt and snatched a fresh set of clothes. Pulling on a lightweight jacket against the cool air, she emerged from her tent.

  Dustin, Flintrop, and Lambertson had already begun morning preparations, moving about in subdued silence. Sara sucked in a breath and went toward them.

  Lamb noticed her and left the others, meeting her halfway. “Are you all right?”

  She marshaled a smile. “I’ll be okay.” She saw lines of grief in his face, and felt her smile disappear. For the first time, Lamb didn’t seem like the invincible, brilliant doctor of archaeology that she’d known since childhood. He looked tired. “You?”