Come Fill Me (The Prophecy)

by Donahue, Tina

  Before she could beg him not to, the vehicle slowed.

  “Here.” Zeke handed her a blanket.

  Its beige and brown threads were woven into an abstract Indian design consisting of triangles, arches and diamond shapes.

  “Go on,” he said when she simply held it. “Put it around yourself.”

  Right. The soft texture surprised her. While Liz wrapped the blanket around her as she would a sarong, Zeke grabbed a pair of worn jeans from behind the cache of weapons and got dressed.

  The van stopped. Footfalls rang out. The back doors swung open. Two men Liz had never seen before stared at her, their black hair and coloring similar to Zeke’s, their ages somewhere between late twenties and early thirties.

  Zeke scooted out and embraced both men. Siblings? No. He’d told her the only family he had left was Jacob. These men weren’t even Zeke’s cousins. She tried to picture Carreon greeting one of his lieutenants with such affection. As the image formed in her mind, Liz saw Carreon pretending to welcome the man, then plunging a knife into his side, twisting the blade to ensure the greatest pain before death.

  Shivering at the thought, she noticed a young woman standing to the side. The girl watched Zeke, her mouth tense with worry. No more than mid-twenties, she wore her straight black hair loose, the ends grazing her waist. Her eyes were equally dark, suiting her tawny complexion. A supermodel couldn’t have looked better than she did in her white tee, jeans and moccasins, her tall, slender figure as lovely as the rest of her.

  Who was she?

  Biting her lower lip, the young woman waited as more men came around to the back of the van, their black clothing and weapons similar to what Liz had seen on the two guys who’d arrived with her and Zeke.

  “Where’s Bartholomew?” he asked the others.

  A tall guy in the back spoke up. “Carreon’s men trapped him. He signaled for us to leave…that he’d take care of matters.”

  Undisguised grief flooded Zeke’s face.

  Why? Because he knew Carreon would torture the man for information, or because Bartholomew would never allow that to happen, sacrificing his own life first?

  One of the brawnier men rested his hand on Zeke’s shoulder in a consoling gesture. The girl bounced in place as an impatient child might, then stopped when she noticed Liz. Hatred blazed in her eyes.

  “Kele,” Zeke said.

  She went to him, slipping her arms around his neck with a familiarity that Liz found more disturbing than the girl’s previous hostility.

  Who in the hell was she? A wife? Girlfriend? One of Zeke’s lovers who wasn’t happy about having to share her man with an enemy woman?

  Whoa. What are you thinking?

  Liz made a face. No way was she Zeke’s newest conquest or jealous of whatever he had going with this Kele person. If not for tonight’s events, Liz would never have met Zeke. She never would have known how deeply he could love, what it was like to lie within his arms.

  How often did he and Kele make love? Did they want children, little ones to protect as he hadn’t been able to with his beloved Gabrielle?

  “Is that her, Carreon’s lover?” Kele asked. The volume at which she spoke said she wanted Liz to hear. “How can you be so certain she’ll help Jacob?”

  Zeke pulled her arms from around his neck and stepped back. “She healed me.” Going to the van, he extended his hand to Liz.

  She accepted his help without pause or comment. The sad truth was she couldn’t speak. His fingers curled around hers with such confidence and care, it awakened something deep within Liz. A longing for assurance. To be important to a man. Cherished. Her earlier thoughts of not being his newest conquest came back to mock her. Aware of the others watching, Liz fought her desire.

  Kele wasn’t fooled. She pressed her lips together, her disdain seeming to have more to do with distrust than jealousy. Given her worry over Jacob, Liz wondered if they were a couple. Would she be inside the room, observing, when Liz healed him?

  What if Jacob mounted her as Zeke had? Not because he was aroused, but because he wanted to sink deep within her core, believing that would afford him the full extent of her healing power. What would Kele do then?

  “This way,” Zeke said.

  Liz followed him around the van, getting her first good look at the tunnel. It arched twenty or more feet above them, dwarfing everything within. The unearthly blue-white lights and gray walls went on forever behind them. On either side were vehicles, mostly Jeeps built for the desert terrain. One was parked haphazardly, bullet holes marring the back doors, no doubt from Carreon’s men firing at it tonight.

  Liz sniffed, expecting to smell the acrid bite of gunpowder, oil and gas. The air was fresh and clean, cooler than it’d been in the van. Pumped in from the outside? Were generators the source of the constant whirr, providing power for this place?

  Zeke stopped at a door that was wide enough for a tank to move through, constructed of the same material as the walls. Kele placed her palm on what seemed to be a control panel.

  Was it reading her fingerprints?

  A series of clicks sounded from within the door. It slid sideways, disappearing into the wall, allowing entrance into Zeke’s stronghold.

  Liz gaped, unable to help herself. On either side of the hall, electric torches—the flameless kind one sees at summer barbeques—provided a soft, golden glow in contrast to the tunnel’s sterile light. Here, the walls were mahogany, the wood gleaming, the floor made of polished stone the color of strong coffee. Priceless Indian art and Comanche blankets, similar to the one she wore, decorated the space.

  A circular buffalo totem caught her attention by its sheer size and magnificence. Nearly as tall as the door she’d just seen, the figures within it were more geometric than lifelike, the red, blue and black colors intense. Past it were niches displaying rock and sand sculptures.

  “Before you came here, did you sell this artwork outside your community?” she asked.

  Zeke didn’t break stride. “We still do. We have agents working for us on the outside. The sales fund our needs, along with stocks.”

  From behind, one of the men cleared his throat. Liz glanced over, then stopped, not wanting to meet Kele’s glare. “Stocks?”

  Zeke nodded.

  She hazarded a guess. “You use your gift to pick the day’s winners?”

  “Not me. The other seers in my clan. We go left here.” He turned down a hall in that direction, tightening his hand around hers, making certain she followed his quickened pace. Their naked feet slapped the floor. The blanket whipped around her ankles and calves. Those following them fell behind, either unable to keep up or not caring to.

  In this area of the stronghold, there were the same torches and artwork along with closed doors. From behind one, Liz heard children squealing, no doubt enjoying a game. From the next, the theme song to America’s Funniest Videos played.

  “Do you find that wrong?” Zeke asked.

  What? His people enjoying themselves as though they lived in a safe and sane world rather than an underground fortress? “Why would I?”

  “Some might consider it insider trading.”

  It took her a moment to follow. “You’re talking about the stocks?”

  “What else?”

  “No, I don’t think it’s wrong. I’ve heard rumors that Carreon funds his lifestyle with drugs, weapon sales and prostitution, since he hasn’t been able to count on you or anyone else from your clan to predict the future for him. My guess is with your gift, he’d make insider trading look about as harmless as jaywalking.”

  Kele made a guttural sound, not even trying to hide her disgust or the fact that she alone had kept pace with them.

  Liz did her best to ignore the girl, concentrating instead on light pouring from an area near the end of the hall. It proved to be a great room where numerous women and older men sat in front of a massive fireplace constructed of black stones. Children, ranging in age from toddlers to preschoolers, amused themselves with
toys, prattling to each other or the adults.

  One of the younger women settled a dispute between two kids, glancing up just in time to see Zeke’s approach. He slowed a bit, nodding in greeting to her. A relieved smile spread across her face. Some of the men noticed. They pushed up in their sofas or chairs, lifting their hands, happy to see him until they noticed Liz.

  “Zeke!” one of the preschoolers hollered, jumping to his feet.

  A stout older woman, possibly his grandmother, grabbed the boy’s arm before he could run into the hall. “Leave Zeke alone,” she murmured, ruffling his hair. “He has work to do.”

  Zeke spoke over his shoulder to the boy. “I’ll come by later.”

  “For a horsey ride?”

  “Only if you promise to go to bed right after.”

  The child stopped jumping up and down, growing serious with Zeke’s feigned sternness. “I will, I will, I will,” he shouted out.

  Liz caught Zeke’s grin, so reminiscent of a father who adored his children. When he noticed her watching, he sobered.

  No, don’t. She wanted to see him happy, to witness his unguarded joy. How little of it had he experienced since Gabrielle’s death? Without thinking, Liz squeezed his hand.

  Surprise and confusion played on his face. As if to flee both emotions, he hurried to the left, to a flight of stairs, directing her up them. The wood groaned beneath their weight and that of those following.

  On the landing, Kele pushed past Liz and Zeke, running toward a group of women, some elderly, others middle-aged. They stood outside an arched doorway. Upon reaching it, Liz glanced inside.

  Gaily colored snake totems graced the limestone interior. The rough walls were unaltered, as though the Others had just excavated this space. The scent of fresh air and sandalwood incense contradicted that notion. Rustic nightstands and lamps, prized in the Anglo community, flanked either side of the bed, constructed of the same dark, unfinished wood. Blankets in a variety of shades hung over the sides.

  In the center of the mattress was Jacob Neekoma.

  Liz stepped into the room.

  His hair was long, possibly waist length, streaming past his left shoulder. Surely no more than thirty, his good looks were more refined than his brother’s while remaining as masculine. An artist would have found Jacob’s strong nose, full mouth and dark brows a delight to paint or sculpt. The same held true for his body. Tall and strong, he was only a bit less muscular than Zeke. He had the same snake tattoo on his biceps without the eagle’s eye, telling Liz he wasn’t a seer. Visions hadn’t forewarned Jacob of what Carreon’s men would do to him, their viciousness.

  Black circles marked the entrance wounds of numerous bullets. Several had ripped through his legs, no doubt making flight impossible, just the way Carreon’s lieutenants liked their prey. Other wounds dirtied the smooth skin on his belly. His hand clutched an area just below his navel.

  No blood seeped out, meaning his blood pressure had fallen to precarious levels. He’d been bathed as Zeke had been. Prepared for her arrival.

  As he hadn’t before, Zeke squeezed her hand now and murmured, “Heal him.”

  Kele made a strangled sound Liz had heard too many times before when someone’s beloved relative or friend had passed. One of the elderly women kept Kele from going to Jacob. “You’ll just be in the way,” she said.

  The girl’s mouth twisted with frustration and grief. She wiggled out of the woman’s grip.

  “Kele.” Zeke gestured to her and the rest of the women. “I want all of you to leave.”

  “No.” She headed for Jacob.

  Zeke stepped in her way, his size stopping her. “Jacob will be all right. I’ll be here with Liz.”

  Indignation darkened Kele’s expression. She spoke through her teeth. “It’s because of her that he’s hurt.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Zeke shot right back. “Liz had nothing to do with the ambush. Now get out of here. The longer you argue with me, the longer it’ll be before my brother gets the help he needs.”

  She bounced in place, fists at her side.

  A woman with a long scar on her right cheek took Kele’s arm, pulling her back.

  She shouted, “Protect Jacob from her!”

  Sighing, Zeke closed the door and went to Liz.

  She wanted to run. Hell, she wanted this morning back when Zeke and Jacob had been whole, their beautiful bodies unmarred by bullets, their thoughts hopefully untroubled, their expressions serene.

  When Liz had first seen Zeke tonight, he’d appeared to be sleeping. Jacob, however, was a portrait in pain, even though he was unconscious. The ends of his mouth turned down; perspiration shone on his body; his muscles bunched.

  During her hospital rotations, Liz had seen people in the first throes of rigor, their features frozen in agony after a horrific death. What if Jacob was too far gone for her to help?

  “Heal only those you believe will survive,” her father had warned.

  Why? What if her healing made Jacob worse, rendering him vegetative? What would that do to Zeke and Kele?

  “Help him, please,” Zeke said, bringing her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to her birthmark.

  A spark flowed between them, resembling a mild surge of electricity. Although Liz knew it was from her healing power, she suspected it might also be something more. A connection that was urging her toward this man, bringing him deeper into her soul.

  Having experienced Carreon’s cruelty, she’d hoped to one day find someone like Zeke.

  Silly, huh? None of her romantic fantasies would change the reality of their situation. It was insane for her to get involved with him, whether driven by lust or because she was so damn lonely. She had her father to think about and her people. They deserved a future without Carreon.

  Pulling her hand free, Liz unknotted the blanket, allowing it to fall at her feet. Naked, she padded to Jacob, praying that she could bring him back to what he’d been. With her hand on his, she traced his long fingers.

  Zeke joined her at the bed, the light from the bronze lamps causing his shadow to fall across the mattress. “What are you doing? Touch his wounds.”

  “Not yet. I have to move slowly, or I’ll overwhelm his body.”

  “To hell with that,” Zeke argued. “If you don’t move quickly, he could die.”

  Liz grabbed his wrist, keeping him from forcing her to do as he wanted. Even though her strength was a fraction of his, Zeke didn’t fight her. “Remember what I told you in the van about my gift being able to heal or kill? Do you want me to prove that here with your brother?”

  “Your touching Jacob could kill him?”

  “It might if I move too quickly. You have to trust me, Zeke.”

  “You do know I could pick you up and throw you across the room, right?”

  Okay, so he did trust her, though not completely. “I need to move slowly. Please believe me, it’s for the best. It’s how I healed you.”

  Zeke regarded his brother, helplessness and uncertainty on his face. “Take care of him, please.”

  “I will. Maybe it’d be better if you left.”

  “No. I stay.” He stepped back. “Go on.”

  Once more, she focused on Jacob, trailing her fingers over his toes and ankles as she had with Zeke, again noting their subtle differences. Jacob’s complexion had more brown in it than copper, the shade making the hair on his legs appear quite dark. The thatch of black curls on his groin wasn’t as springy as his brother’s. His cock was thicker when flaccid, Zeke’s longer. A mole on Jacob’s left testicle further differentiated them, while Zeke sported a similar mole on his inner left thigh.

  Liz ran her hands over Jacob, pausing periodically to press her birthmark to his flesh, captivated by his male beauty. Not to the degree she’d experienced with Zeke, but enough to surprise her.

  Perhaps it was concern over his condition she was experiencing rather than true desire, the need a woman has for a beautiful man.

  Outside the roo
m, someone paced. Probably Kele. The muffled slaps sounded as though they came from her moccasins. A female voice, raspy with age, kept saying something Liz couldn’t make out. The pacing continued.

  Grateful Kele wasn’t in the room, Liz ran her hands over Jacob’s pecs, enjoying the warmth of his skin, its silky texture, how the tiny tips of his nipples scraped her palms. He smelled of something woodsy, possibly cedar, and a man’s musk.

  Without warning, the scent reminded her of Zeke and what they’d done. Him rolling them over, pinning her beneath his big body, using his weight as a weapon and for pleasure. Not only trapping her but also freeing Liz. Encouraging her to respond to his deep, lingering kisses, his large hands using her breasts with a male’s privilege, parting her thighs with his knees, plunging his hard rod inside her pussy, taking what he wanted, what she ached to give him.

  She slid her hand to Jacob’s shaft.

  Zeke sucked in a breath.

  His reaction to what she was doing didn’t startle Liz or warn her away. She worked her fingers through Jacob’s pubic hair even as her other hand went to the wounds on his legs, touching them cautiously.

  Beneath her palm, she felt the cruel holes constrict and close.

  Good. However, the worst injuries were in his gut.

  She edged his hand aside and replaced it with her own. In her peripheral vision, Liz saw Jacob’s long toes splay, then curl. An involuntary reaction, or his response to her power flowing through him, healing his internal organs?

  Bit by bit, the gaping holes closed over, his skin forming a solid barrier. Liz glanced up. Jacob’s eyes moved beneath his lids, but he hadn’t awakened. Was he fighting consciousness as Zeke had done, reluctant to leave whatever he saw on the other side?

  Come on. Stop resisting me. Prove that you’ll come back and be just as you were.

  She pressed harder, feeling the pulse in his torso. With each second, it grew stronger, blood forcing its way through his body, sustaining him.