Parallel Seduction

by Deidre Knight

  An idea took hold in his mind. Turning to her, he clasped Hope by both shoulders. "You've trusted me this far, and I need you to trust me a little longer, okay?"

  She leaned into the snowmobile, her eyes drifting shut. "I so need to kill you. You deserve it, you know."

  He snorted. "There's my girl. We're going to do something that seems totally insane … but I think"—he glanced across the lake, zeroing in on the shooters—"it's our only way out. Those are Antousians out there, and they want just one thing, and that's us, dead."

  "I really don't want to give them what they're after," she said.

  "Good. Neither do I, and that's why I'm going to power up the engine on this thing." He slapped the side of the snowmobile with his open palm. "And we're going to make a run for it."

  She shook her head. "It's going to fucking explode, hello?"

  "Not before we get out of here."

  "Terrible bet, and I say the odds are even worse."

  Reaching over her shoulder, he found the button that would engage the engine. "Otherwise," he said, "we're going to die right here."

  "Then I'll take that bet." She nodded. "How're we going to do this thing?"

  He pulled the button that set the motor idling; immediately the gas fumes intensified, smoke pouring from the engine. "I'm getting on first," he shouted over the loud noise, "and I'm swinging you up in front of me. It'll be my back they fire against."

  She began to laugh crazily. "What? You don't think I can drive us?"

  "I'll steer it from behind." He bent, kissing her quickly on the cheek. "On my mark. Three, two, one … go!"

  One minute Hope was hunkered beside a dying snowmobile, and the next she was hurtling through a blurry white haze, her face pressed down against a motor that was going to explode any minute. Jake had shoved her down in front of him so hard that her jaw slammed against a control, and now her mouth was bleeding. That hardly mattered; they were speeding so fast that her eyes were watering, and her head was bobbing against a whole array of controls—all the while there was the sound of sputtering gunfire erupting behind them.

  "I … hope … you … know … what … you're … doing," she barely managed to get out, her head slamming against the windshield and controls with every bump they hit.

  Jake didn't answer, and she heard him fire against their pursuers, turning back over his shoulder. The snowmobile lurched, spinning out. "Damn it!" she shouted, and reached for his pistol. "You need to drive. Stop shoving me down here and let me get in this fight."

  Somehow, impossibly, she managed to wrestle the gun away from him, sat up straight even though he kept battling to shove her face-down, and began firing just past his head. She used his shoulder as a steadying force, and at first he did everything in his power to wrestle her back down. At last, he seemed to accept the fact that, semi-blind though she might be, he did have to drive the snowmobile. She, for her part, kept spraying the terrain beyond his shoulder with whatever this weapon contained—bright blasts of golden-red fire. And she tried to simply ignore the increasing smell of fumes and smoke that filled her nostrils.

  "Faster, Jake." She twisted in the seat, leaning against his chest. The bad guys were definitely gaining on them; she knew that because their dark forms were growing larger and larger. "They're on snowmobiles … or something. Black-looking things."

  "Station craft," he yelled over the wind.

  She fired off a few more rounds, watching the black shapes loom closer. "Whatever those things are, they're faster than us."

  The smell of explosive fumes burned her nostrils. "Don't worry about going faster!" She grabbed hold of his shoulders. "This thing's gonna blow!"

  At that precise moment a thundering jolt catapulted her off the snowmobile and into the wide open abyss. She felt herself go airborne, sensed the world slice all around them. For distended, unreal moments she flew, crying, "Jake! Jakob!"

  But her screams lodged in her throat as her head impacted some hard substance, and wind and air met ground all at once.

  She worked to move her mouth, horrified, but no sound came forth. And then, as she lifted her head, seeing nothing but blackness and brightness mingled together in an ungodly union, she collapsed against the frozen ice.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Go! Go! Go!" Jake took hold of her arm, pulling at her, but Hope wanted no part of it. To sleep, to lie still and rest, that was the only command she would listen to.

  "You go," she told him dully, burying her face against the snow.

  "Hope Harper! Move it!" His voice was shrill and high; immediately she came to her senses. "They're right on us! If you don't get rolling, we're both dead."

  Blinking up at his dark form, she allowed him to lift her off of the hard surface beneath her, and stumbled to her feet. "Who are they?" She staggered along in his frantic grasp. "Who's after us?" Somehow, she couldn't quite remember any of it.

  "Vlksai! Run, Hope! Stay with me!" Jake thrust her ahead of him, sprinting toward what looked like a frozen cliff.

  The tattering sound of gunfire erupted behind them; bright sparks shot past her head. "Oh, shit!" she said, and lengthened her steps as far as they would go. Jake shoved against her back, urging her onward.

  "Move, move, move!" he shouted, sounding like a drill sergeant. She registered that thought about his military acumen, even though they were running for their lives. Everything was happening in an elongated, slow time scale, each of them sprinting as if in a terrible nightmare where nothing happened quickly enough. She felt every detail as if it were a sleepy Sunday afternoon. The firing weapons at their back. Jake's voice of authority. Their refuge just ahead, yet totally unreachable.

  Like every bad dream she'd ever had, they were a million miles from safety, running and grasping toward it with every bit of their determination. Hope hit her stride, determined to survive; it had always been that way for her. Insurmountable odds, impossible chances.

  Digging into that place within, the one that had always kept her alive, she stretched her legs and ran with everything she had.

  They hit the ice-covered cliffs, slamming against the hard surface as one. Jake grabbed Hope, shoving his own body between her and the jagged rocks. Engaging his pulse pistol, he began the interminable regeneration process; they were out of ammo, and it would be precisely two minutes before he could power up again. Their temporary position, however, allowed the cover of several boulders and a copse of trees.

  "We've got to climb this trail." He was breathless, shaking. They'd gotten so close to the chamber, and if only they could make their way to the top of the ridge—and his data collector would allow them to enter the mitres—they just might make it out of this showdown alive.

  Hope shook her head dazedly, clasping at the frozen rocks. "I'm low, Jake. Really low."

  He turned in panic, realizing the unthinkable—that Hope's medical pack was somewhere back with the snowmobile, possibly blown to shreds. Without her diabetic snacks, her insulin, all her supplies, she would die out here in the wilderness, even if the Antousians didn't get her. "You're going to be okay," he promised, but felt his throat tighten in alarm. "Shit, Hope, I'm sorry. So sorry to have dragged you into all of this."

  She closed her eyes, shaking. "He told me to come with you. I did it for him."

  He dropped beside her, checking his pulse pistol again; seventy-four more seconds of regeneration left to go. Slipping his arms around her, he willed her to be okay, to receive strength from him somehow, even though he didn't have a damn thing that she needed to recover from her dropping glucose levels. On an ordinary day this was a walk in the park, a simple matter of blood sugar correction. Now, out in the wilderness, it was a genuine crisis; without supplies, she could go into a coma … or worse.

  "Who told you to come with me?" He stroked her hair, keeping his voice calm and soothing, even though inside he was a mass of tangled nerves.

  "Scott," she slurred, still shaking in his arms. "He told me that when you came, I had to go with
you."

  Jake jerked backward, gaping at her. Scott Dillon had no idea who he was. Why in hell's name would the soldier have asked her to go with him? And if the man did somehow have an inkling of his true identity—as impossible as that seemed—then Jake should be the last man Dillon would want spiriting her away.

  "When did he say that, sweetheart?"

  Her shaking intensified, but she said nothing more. Studying the terrain that stood between them and the blown-up snowmobile, Jake calculated that he would likely die if he ran for her lost medical pack. On the other hand, gauging by the shape she was in, she would likely die if he didn't at least try to go back for her supplies.

  "You're dangerously low. Hope. I've got to go back for your pack."

  She jerked her head, mumbling at him unintelligibly. Releasing her from his grasp, he took hold of his pistol with both hands. The reading showed that it was fully powered again. Hope slumped forward, a sheen of cold sweat on her forehead.

  Not again, not now! Please, All, don't let her go into shock.

  He'd been down this road with her too many other times, and the image of her shaking and disoriented was enough to make him physically ill.

  "I'm okay," she tried to argue, her voice weak, but he knew better. He could identify every one of her telltale signs. All the physical exertions of this morning had been too much. When had she even stopped to eat, to fortify herself against the onslaught of her disease? Not once, and he cursed himself for not having made her take a snack. Right now she was still hanging on; a little while longer and she'd be too far gone for help. It had always been this way with her disease—a hairpin trigger that he could hardly keep in check. She had to have that medical pack, or it was all over before it had barely begun.

  With one final glance at her, he stepped out of the trees and ran as fast as he could toward the metal carcass of their exploded snowmobile. No sooner had he left cover than the two station craft spun toward him; like a pair of menacing black helicopters they bore down, elevated only a few feet above the snow and frozen lake. Station craft could run at two hundred miles an hour over open terrain, and didn't rely on snow or land in order to operate.

  Jake dropped to one knee, firing rapidly on first one of the assassins, then the other. Unbelievably, the first Antousian catapulted backward off his ride, and Jake wasted no time, training all of his energy on the second soldier. Over and over he fired, and meanwhile the station craft gained on him, circling near, slowing until the vlksai leaped off the vehicle, charging toward him, firing with both hands.

  Pulse fire whizzed past his shoulders, barely missing him, but Jake was determined to take this enemy out. Otherwise Hope would be left exposed and vulnerable—and dying from diabetic shock.

  Raising his pistol for one clean shot, he fired. When the bastard fell to the ground, collapsing face-first into the snow, Jake took off running for Hope's pack.

  "I see them!" Anna had position on the transport's jump seat, right by the main viewing pane, her distance goggles pressed against the window. "Jake Tierny is in the open, sir—wide open. Hope Harper is off to the side."

  "And?" Scott couldn't stifle his impatience. "And what else, Lieutenant? What more do you see?" He unfastened his safety harness, keeping his balance as he made his way across the aisle toward the window where Anna held position. She had a good fix on the action below, but it wasn't enough; he needed that visual lock himself.

  "She's down, sir. If it is indeed her, and I think so—visual ID matches."

  Scott knelt against the side of Anna's jump seat, shoving her out of the way; he had to see for himself. Seizing her goggles, he pressed them to his eyes, positioning them against the viewing pane. A visual survey revealed a figure that resembled Jake Tierny running across the frozen expanse of Mirror Lake; two station craft looked to be down, with fallen figures beside them. Scanning the perimeter, he searched out Hope.

  And found her.

  She lay crumpled in the snow, half leaning against the cliffs that led to the mitres chamber, utterly still.

  Shouting at the craft's captain, he ordered her to set down by the mitres; they could do it, given their transport's stealth capacity, even now, in the middle of the day.

  "Drop now!" He barked the orders, one after another, the image of Hope's small, crumpled form scorched into his mind.

  By the time Jake fell to Hope's side, she'd broken out in a visible sweat and was mumbling incoherently. Her whole body shook, and tears streamed down her face. He'd seen all of this before, how erratic and emotional she could become just because her glucose levels were dangerously low.

  "Here, sweetheart." He knelt beside her, pressing an open bottle of juice against her lips. "Drink on up."

  She reached for the liquid, knocking it away, and most of the juice jolted out of the container. "Fuck you, Tierny!" She glared in his direction irritably.

  "Drink this, okay? You've got to drink this now or you're gonna go into shock."

  She struggled to sit up, half kneeling in the snow. "Shock? You wanna know shock? That's everything about you! You, Tierny!" She waved wildly about them, still refusing the juice, tears rolling down her face. "I don't know who the hell you are. Fuck you! Fuck, fuck, fuck you!"

  "You always liked that word." He couldn't help but smile, again working the juice bottle toward her lips. This time she took several sips, closing her eyes.

  Although he knew she'd hate to admit it, the juice was exactly what she needed to even out her gyrating glucose levels. He refused to think about the fact that she was here because of him; that because of him, she'd been ill prepared to deal with her life-threatening illness.

  "Go on, take just a little more." Too much would be … too much. He'd lived years of dealing with her health issues; it almost frightened him how easily he could take up her cause again.

  After a few more sips, she swatted the bottle away, sending more of the liquid flying against the snow. But her tirade wasn't over. "See, tell me what I'm doing here, huh? Tell me what's going on!"

  When she got like this, things were always a little irrational and scary.

  And honest.

  "I took out our enemies," he reassured her softly, running a palm down the length of her hair. "You're safe now."

  "Safe? I'm not safe! Hell, no! You're danger incarnate, my friend. Why, why did he tell me to go with you, huh?" Her words were still slurred, but at least her tremors had ceased. "I'm so messed up to even be here."

  Clasping both of her shoulders, he tried to look into her eyes; of course, it was an impossible feat when she couldn't focus back on him. But still … he wanted her to know how serious he was.

  "Tell me again—do you love Scott Dillon?" He pressed his face close to hers, so aware that he looked nothing at all like the man whom she loved. Everything about this body was wrong: too bulky, too dark, too marked. Covered with tattoos and inscrutable scars. It had been awkward since the day he'd stolen it.

  "Stop it," she hissed, trying to turn away, but he captured her face, pulling it close against his.

  The mitres was such a long way up, and if she didn't understand the truth, she would never work to make it all the way there. Besides, it was time; after everything he'd put her through, it was more than time that she knew the full score.

  He sucked in a strengthening breath. "If you love him, then you understand what you feel for me."

  She burrowed her face against his chest, and he knew that she was still vaguely incoherent. "Nah, nah, that's just not true." She burst into laughter, pawing at him, even as she nestled closer within his embrace.

  Jake closed his eyes, praying that All would guide him. But his throat tightened and no words came. He stared down at his olive skin—so dark in contrast to the fair man he'd once been born to be—and fingered a puckered, long tattoo that ran across the back of his right hand, feeling the ridged skin. He had no idea how this body had acquired the scarring. He drew that hand into a furious, tortured fist and slammed it against the icy rock
, causing his knuckles to bleed.

  She pulled back, studying his face as best she could. "Stop hiding things from me. Just because I can't see … doesn't mean I can't see the facts. You've got a big secret."

  "You're right," he admitted softly. "Such a big secret that it could destroy you, and I love you too much to do that, Hope."

  She rubbed her face, obviously steadying herself. "I'm tough. Like I said before, so lay it on me, Jakob."

  "If you love him," he whispered carefully, never taking his eyes off of her, "then you naturally love me."

  "Let her go, you vlksai bastard!" Scott screamed the words, ignoring the fact that Hope was held within his enemy's arms. A good thirty feet still separated them, but he shot off a round to prove his point, letting it ricochet off the cliffs behind them. "Drop your weapon and stand down!"

  Jake Tierny appeared stunned by Scott's sudden appearance, slowly releasing Hope from his grasp. But it was more than that: He seemed frightened somehow, his large green eyes wide and unbelieving. That was the last sensory detail that Scott noted before the world around them folded apart, rent from within, collapsing. An energy that Scott had never experienced drove him to his knees, tossing him forward as if he were nothing more substantial than a dream. Rushing winds, keening fathoms, the universe itself, all of these things erupted about him, and he could only clutch at the vanishing ground. Grope and pray, grope and pray: This was all that he could do.

  The experience was ten times more powerful—a hundred, maybe—than anything he'd felt in the mitres chamber when they'd opened up the vortex. Time itself magnetized him to the earth below his body, and no matter how much he tried to move toward Hope—to save her from this enemy's clutches—he couldn't so much as work a limb.

  "Hope!" His voice came out elongated. "Get away from him!"

  She moved her hands, gesturing strangely and, like something from his very worst nightmares, began to climb the trail with his enemy.